Locus Desperatus
by colakirk
Summary: Peter rescues a deeply troubled Neal after the young man was held captive for over a month. WARNING: Contains spanking and self harm. Don't like, please don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: **Please read this warning carefully before proceeding. This fic contains non-consensual spanking, death of an original character, self-harm and depression. It is a dark fic with lots of angst, hurt and comfort. If you think any of those subjects will be upsetting, please skip over this entire fic.

**Authors Note: **This fic was written for Latin Writter as a trade at the FF Exchange. Thanks to all my friends there - Sue, LW, WC, B-Rose, KS and DB, who joined me for the ride and offered light entertainment and encouragement along the a special thank you to the ever reliable Peppe for betaing this story.

**Locus Desperatus **

Drip…..…Drip…Drip…Drip…..The repetitive sound of the little water droplets hitting the concrete edging of the drain were like pin pricks to his skin. Drip….Drip…Drip…..… He covered his ears to block out the noise but knew with certainty the torturous sound would still be echoing throughout the room once he removed his hands. The fact that he hadn't obliterated the source of the auditory pest weeks ago was not from want of trying. He'd wrapped his jacket around the faucet, which seemed like an obvious solution and it was successful, but then he had to wait for days for his jacket to dry out while his body shivered and shook from the cold. It hadn't been worth it. On three separate occasions he'd tried to smash the object of his despair from its stronghold, during one final bid he recalled slamming his foot down onto the tap several times. He'd paid a heavy price for that foolish attempt as he spent several hours after, writhing and whimpering on the ground from the pain shooting up his leg.

Removing his hands from his ears he cringed as the noise re-entered his eardrum.… Drip… Drip… Drip….. Drip….. He pulled his hat over his head and curled up in a ball on the rock-hard unyielding ground. He heard his stomach growling and aching with hunger. He knew he should eat but he couldn't face the prospect of swallowing one more mouthful of slug soup. He'd have to wait till he was delirious with hunger like he was the last time. The slugs were so much easier to stomach once his brain began to play tricks. Perhaps this time he could imagine he was beginning the third course at La Chalice, a fancy a la carte restaurant on 48th and Broadway he remembered eating at some time in the distant past.

The thought of having to eat brought tears to his eyes and so he lay on his side and wept. He wept because at this point in time he had depleted his supply of every coping mechanism available at his disposal. Those acquired skills, which were second nature up until a few weeks ago, had slowly seeped the way of the waste water - down the unending abyss of the drainage pipe. He realised the sobbing was becoming a morning ritual, as he curled his arms around his legs crying tears that trickled down his face washing away the grime that had built up over time. Of course he was only guessing it was morning. How could he possibly know? Light was unable to penetrate the dense concrete walls of his chamber. Nothing could penetrate those solid walls - not light, not warmth, not sound, not life. And his lifeblood was slowly draining away with the rhythmic beat of the continual water that offensively leaked from the faucet.

Detaching his tie pin from his shirt pocket - his tie had long since gone the way of his resolve, discarded somewhere amongst the slug soup cans littered across the filthy concrete flooring - he began to scratch at a fresh section of skin on his forearm. As he had on previous occasions, he purposely avoided the semi-healed wounds pitted along his arm feeling appropriately gutless. As the pin broke the surface, he continued to scratch with added pressure till he felt warm tacky liquid begin to trickle from the laceration. He wished for the courage to do more. He wanted to do more. He wanted to turn his arm over and scratch at the knobby surface of his wrist where he could feel veins coursing blood from his heart to his extremities. He tried to tell himself he was working up to it. It was now his ultimate goal after failing so abysmally at starving himself and passing out from dehydration. Both those ideas had been complete failures after his delirious brain took over and forced him to eat and drink when he wasn't in any position to make decisions for himself. He'd been depressed for days after the realisation that he wasn't even capable of killing himself, but then he'd come up with the tie pin idea.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on which point of view was being considered, he'd never been good with needles nor blood so it was taking some time to get to the point where he could cut himself in an area that would have the required result. But getting to that place was still a long way off. Every time he felt the blood leaking from the wound, he'd quickly wrap it in his undershirt, which he had taken off long ago to become a makeshift bandage for every injury he'd endured since finding himself in this hell hole. He reattached his tie pin and began to weep some more.

During this current decent into hopelessness and misery he began to hear voices. That wasn't uncommon. He often heard voices; sometimes he even swore the dripping faucet was trying to communicate in its own language, which he was yet to decipher. Today the language was recognisable… "Neal."

He rubbed at his swollen wet eyes with his hat trying to clear his head of not only tears but confused thoughts that muddled his brain.

"Neal?" Clearly he was becoming delirious again. He guessed sooner or later he'd be tucking into the slug soup.

"Neal?" The voice was now more real than it had ever been. Perhaps this was the end that he'd been hoping for. He squinted in the darkness, something was hurting his eyes. He wasn't sure but he thought he caught a glimpse of a silhouetted figure kneeling beside him. He smiled, not only was he hearing voices that were only figments of his imagination, now he was beginning to see people that weren't real. Was this the beginning of the end? Was this how the insanity eased its way into a properly functioning mind? He knew that the visions had to be part of the delirium because there wasn't anything to see in this lightless chamber. The room was pitch black. He couldn't even see the fingers on his hand. He'd only found the food supply through feeling around and naturally he'd found the water through the incessant dripping.

"Neal, hey, it's me." The voice was soft and caring, and…familiar. He guessed that was all part of the mind playing tricks. If he was going to imagine a voice it was logical that it would have those comforting qualities.

"Neal buddy. Can you hear me?" A hand reached out and rested on his shoulder. As far as hallucinations went, this one was a winner. The voice was soft and caring, the vision had a kind and compassionate appearance and his touch was gentle and reassuring. He hoped he could hold onto this delusion for a little while, it wouldn't hurt to have company while he went out of his mind. He reached up with his own arm and placed it on the vision's knee. It was warm and solid and for some reason he didn't care that it wasn't real. He lifted his head and placed it in his 'companions' lap. It felt good, too good. He closed his eyes and drifted off feeling better than he had in a very long time.

###

Peter cradled his partner's head in his lap and watched him shut down after a brief moment of awareness. He ran his fingers through the young man's hair before shedding tears of relief. He'd all but given up hope of this moment, particularly during the past week. All the experts had said there was no chance but a small part of him held onto the belief that if anyone was capable of surviving this experience, Neal Caffrey could. He ran a hand across his eyes and turned back towards the paramedics, awaiting further instructions. He'd been sure to follow the medical team's directions carefully. They had sent Peter down first, carrying a low-light emitting lamp as not to burn the boy's retina after being so long in the dark. Peter had been instructed to use a soft, reassuring voice and only to reach out and touch the young man after he'd become aware of another presence in the room. Peter wasn't sure that had actually happened but had been comforted when Neal lifted his head and laid it in his lap.

The paramedics approached and wrapped a bandage around the young man's head, completely covering his eyes. They had explained earlier to Peter that it would be necessary while transporting him to the hospital and that it was going to take time before the boy's eyes could be exposed to full light once more. Peter stepped back, giving the medical team room to work as they strapped Neal onto a gurney and hoisted him up the retractable stairs dangling from the ceiling thirty feet above.

The agent watched as the last of the medics disappeared above, soon his own team would be down in this cellar collecting evidence but for the moment, Peter turned off his lamp and let it all sink in. This cold, desolate, lifeless basement was his boy's home for more than a month. He couldn't see much - very little light filtered through from the opening in the ceiling above – and that had been completely covered for the duration of Neal's stay. The room was devoid of all warmth, warmth of the humankind. At what point during the past weeks had the young man's soul given up any hope of rescue. The room was quiet, no sound, not even squeak could be heard from above, and that was with all the activity of fully equipped medical personnel and an entire FBI division searching the house. Peter was alone, all alone, just as Neal had been for thirty-eight days. He listened. Nothing. No, there was something, a tiny repetitive sound emanating from the corner of the room. Peter made his way across, careful not to tread on the multitude of canned spaghetti tins and discarded lids littered across the ground. He listened closely then crouched down beside the leaking tap. He reached up and twisted the leaver, or tried to. It had been soldered into position. There was an empty tin can sitting under the faucet, collecting the drips. The can was three-quarters full of water. Peter sat staring, mesmerised by the water droplets landing in the makeshift cup, unable to take his eyes of it or stop the sound from embedding in his thoughts. Drip…. Drip… Drip…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I forgot to mention that while this is not actually a sequel, it does mention events from my story Peter's Patient. A lot of you have already read that story and it doesn't need to be read first, but there are some parts, particularly in this chapter that refer to events in that story. Also, I had a query about the warning for death and just to clarify, I would of course never kill off any character from the actual series, only characters I've made up myself. However, that still may upset some readers so please consider this before you continue.

**LOCUS DESPERATUS**

Dr Andrew Bryant strode purposefully down the sterile corridor of Saint Alexander's Memorial Hospital reaching his target without delay. "G'day El," he greeted, wrapping his arms around Elizabeth and giving her a comforting hug.

"Andy. Oh it's so good to see you. I-I wasn't sure you were on today." The young woman was having a difficult time holding her emotions in check.

"Actually, I wasn't due to start my rounds 'til this arvo but Pete called me while they were putting Neal in the ambulance. Is he in with the kid?"

Before El could reply, their attention was drawn to the adjacent examination room and what could only be Peter shouting.

"How about I go in and see if I can give someone a hand?" The doctor gave El a reassuring smile, "It's going to be okay."

"Thanks Andy," El visibly relaxed and sat down on the waiting chairs facing the room where she expected all hell was about to break loose.

Andy walked in to quite a sight, not that he'd expected anything less. Two young nurses were tugging at Neal's buttons, trying to remove the filthy shirt that looked unfit for even an incinerator. They weren't having much luck. Neal was squirming and slapping at whatever he could, unable to see too well through the pair of dark lens glasses he was sporting. The normally pristine looking young man was almost unrecognisable, with his matted hair and unkempt beard.

Peter and the attending doctor were involved in a heated disagreement, neither seemed to register Andy's arrival. The female physician was trying to remain professional. "Sir, I need you to leave the room. The patient is distressed and we need to get the situation under control and even then, only immediate family will be allowed to-"

"I'm the kid's….I'm his legal guardian."

"His legal guardian?" The Doctor sounded dubious.

"Yes for want of a better term." Peter wasn't backing down, or going anywhere for that matter.

"Be that as it may Mr.…"

"It's Agent, Agent Peter Burke. I'm responsible for hi…" Peter trailed off and was stunned into silence, as was everyone else in the room as the nurses finally succeeded in unbuttoning Neal's shirt, revealing his exposed chest.

Peter stepped closer and focused on the younger man's torso. Despite several layers of dirt and grime, the message written in black permanent marker was clear and haunting - 'Agent Peter Burke is responsible for this body'.

Nobody spoke for ages, all eyes turned towards the federal agent; clearly they were expecting some type of explanation. Peter was at a loss to come up with one.

Andy was the first to find his voice; clearing his throat he announced his arrival. "Good morning Dr Swanson, nurses." He stepped further into the room as he continued, "Mr Caffrey is a patient of mine. If you are happy for me to, I can take over Margaret."

_Yes, more than happy to._ "That would be great thank you Andrew." The doctor gathered her files and excited the room without a second glance.

"Ladies," Andy addressed the two young nurses who'd returned to the task of removing the soiled clothing, "would you mind giving me the room? I'll sing out in a tick so if you wouldn't mind staying close."

"Yes Doctor."

Neal took advantage of the nurses stepping away and clambered off the bed and dived under it, cowering on the hard linoleum surface of the examination room floor.

Andrew smirked at the predictability of the young con before turning to his friend. "Hey mate, how you doing?" He gave the agent a brotherly slap against his shoulder.

"I'll let you know in a couple of hours." Peter rubbed a weary hand across his face. "Thanks for coming in Andy."

"Hey, easy decision. My best friend's 'pseudo son' needs a doc, no way am I going to trust that care to anyone else."

Peter thanked his lucky starts, not for the first time, for having such sincere and caring friends in his life. "I'm not sure where Neal's at mentally. He hasn't spoken since we found him and I'm not even sure he recognises me. Perhaps he's got amnesia?"

"Well, one step at a time hey Pete. Let's see how far I can get with my favourite patient." The doctor winked at his friend as he crouched down to address the young man hiding under the bed.

Peter sighed, hoping Andy's saintly patience would see out this particular examination.

"Hey Neal, you remember me don't you? Andy Bryant. I'm a friend of Peters. You know, the strange one with the odd accent you always tease me about." The kid had curled up on the floor but tilted his head appearing to be paying attention to the voice. Andy continued, "I fixed your leg for you when you cut it last year."

Neal appeared deep in thought, subconsciously putting his hand on the spot that Andy had stitched. Evidently he had some memory of the incident.

"Neal, when I fixed your leg and before that when you hurt your arm, we had a special arrangement. I made a deal with you that I would only look and wouldn't do anything unless you gave the okay. We can have that same deal today if you like. I will look with my eyes and if I need to touch an area or do something then I'll ask first. Okay?"

Neal made no indication he'd understood.

"Neal, I need to get you up off the floor and onto the bed, do you need a hand?"

Still no acknowledgement.

"Neal?"

The young man twisted his head in the other direction upon hearing the second voice, which happened to be more familiar and comforting than the first.

"Neal buddy, give me your hand and I'll help you up." Neal reached out and took Peter's offered hand. The agent helped the kid up and back onto the bed.

Peter resisted the urge to grab a sheet and throw it across Neal's torso. He was having a hard time taking his eyes off the 'message' and it was causing bile to build up in his throat.

Andy proceeded with the examination. "Okay Neal, like I said I'm just going to have a look with my eyes at some of the scratches on your body. Do you think you could remove your shirt and pants so I can have a better look?"

Once again, Neal made no move to comply.

"Neal," Peter took a hold of the young man's collar and began to gently pull the shirt off his shoulders, "I'll give you a hand." After success with the top, Peter hesitantly took a hold and unzipped Neal's pants. On any other given day, the young con would have made several unpleasant comments regarding the intrusion into such a personal space but on this particular occasion, Neal sat silently and allowed the older man to continue undressing him. Peter didn't even consider touching the kid's boxer briefs, he'd have to leave those for the nurses.

Once the task was done, and the clothes tossed directly into the waste bin, Andy gave the young man a thorough visual examination. He made some notes on the bedside chart, careful not to poke and prod his patient as per the promise.

After looking over every inch of the boy's body, Andy addressed the young man. "Neal…Do you remember me now?"

Andy wasn't certain, but the kid may have given a slight nod of his head in response.

"And do you know who this is?" The doctor indicated Peter who was standing on the opposite side of the bed.

Neal looked at the agent before nodding. This time the affirmative was clear.

"What's his name Neal?"

No answer.

"Neal, what's my name?" Peter tried this time but instead of a verbal response, the boy held up both his hands and guided his fingers in swift intentional movements.

Andy and Peter looked across at each other, unsure if they'd seen correctly.

"Neal, tell me my name." The agent asked again and once more, Neal raised his hands and made the same motions as before.

Andy raised his eyebrows, "Looks like he's using sign language."

"I wasn't aware that Neal even knew ASL." Peter was confused.

"I guess we'll get a translator in here to see what he's saying." Andy walked towards the door.

"Not necessary. I'll get El. Her deaf uncle lived with her growing up. She'll tell us what he's saying."

Peter threw a sheet over the young man and stepped to the door. He beckoned his wife and quickly explained the situation.

El held Peter's hand as they made their way back in. She tried to act casual, but oh my, their boy appeared so hopeless and the dark glasses weren't helping the overall look. "Hi sweetie."

Not surprisingly, Neal didn't respond so Andy asked again, pointing at Peter. "Neal, who is this?"

The young man signed as El translated, "Agent Burke."

Peter released his breath, it was a start.

"Okay Neal, and who is this," Andy pointed to El.

Neal moved his fingers. Peter and Andy looked to El for the response, "Mrs Burke."

"Hmmm." Andy considered. "Neal, how do you know Agent Burke and Mrs Burke?"

At first it appeared like he wasn't going to answer but finally he began signing. El translated, "I've been in trouble a few times with the police and Agent Burke has helped me out. Mrs Burke and Agent Burke take care of me sometimes when I haven't got anywhere to stay."

Peter squeezed El's hand, trying to offer her support, but in reality needing hers as much as anything. The boy wasn't making any sense.

"Neal, when did you learn sign language?"

The young man held up his hand to his forehead then pulled away, keeping his hand flat, palm face down.

"El?"

"Uh, he said, 'I don't know."

"Neal, can you talk?"

Neal responded with the same sign, _I don't know._

"Last question Neal; you're doing really well….How old are you?"

At first he responded with the 'I don't know' sign, then he moved his fingers some more.

"What did he say El?" Peter asked with an urgent tone.

"He said, 'I don't know, maybe….sixteen.'"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the kind reception you have given this story, I do hope it lives up to expectations.

I had a couple of requests after it was posted to write this one as a non-spanking fic. It had been something I had considered doing when I first started writing it but, as always, it took on a life of it's own and before long, there was spanking. Anyhow, after the requests I thought that perhaps I could post two stories simultaneously, Locus Desperatus would be the story that was originally posted on the ff exchange and a second version, named A Hopeless Passage as to not get confusion with the original, could be posted with Peter handling Neal's transgression in an alternative manner. The basic story would remain the same. So, to cut a _very_ long story short,

Please read – **Locus Deperatus** if you're cool with the spanking (And for the record, the couple of people who requested non-corporal punishment were cool with it, they just wanted a fic without and they did ask ever so nicely!)

Please read – **A Hopeless Passage** if you would prefer a non-spanking version

Both stories with be practically the same just with minor alterations. If you are still confused, send me a message and we can be confused together!

**LOCUS DESPERATUS**

Puzzled expressions graced the faces of each of the adults in the room. The 'sixteen year old' remained expressionless. Andy recovered first. "Neal, two nurses are going to come in here and help clean you up. They're going to sponge you down, wash the dirt off your skin and change you into a fresh set of clothes." _Hopefully they'll remove some of that permanent marker in the process_, Andy considered. "They'll just be using soft sponges and soap and I'll get them to shave off your beard and clean out the wounds." The kid looked ready to protest so Andy pre-empted. "No needles, I promise. Peter, Elizabeth and I are going to wait just outside this window," the doctor walked over and adjusted the blinds so it was now possible to see out into the corridor. "We'll sit on those chairs just over there and if you need me, call out or wave and I'll come straight back in. Are you okay with that that plan?"

Neal remained silent.

"Okay young man, let's get you looking spiffy and debonair like the last time I saw you."

Andy headed out of the room with El trailing behind, deep concern written all over her ordinarily cheerful features.

Peter hung back and waited until he was alone with his young CI. "Neal…" he felt so unsure of himself as he approached a truly unpleasant topic, "Neal…buddy…I need to take a photo of your…your appearance." Peter's voice was barely above a whisper as he continued, "It's necessary so I can preserve a record for the prosecutor to use against Franklin Holmes - the man who did this to you, and use it to bring him to justice. I know you don't want to even think about this at the moment so I'll be real fast." Peter reached for his cell and was adjusting it to camera mode when he realised Neal was signing again. The younger man held out his right hand and extended his index and middle fingers before snapping them together with his thumb.

"Uh…" Peter looked out to the waiting room and considered calling El back in. But then he'd have to explain about the photo and the message on Neal's chest - the main reason he needed the photo in the first place, and then El would need consoling and everything would be a bigger mess than it already was… "Uh, Neal, I don't understand what you are saying." _Any chance you can use your voice?_

The young CI held out his hand and made the same sign. This time he shook his head as he did, leaving Peter no difficulty in interpreting.

"No? You don't want me to take your picture?"

Correct. Neal gave a slight nod.

"Neal, I understand. I would feel exactly the same way but this is crucial. I promise you though that I won't show the photo to anyone until you are able to weigh in on the subject."

Neal held up his two fingers and snapped them together with his thumb.

"No." Peter was learning fast. "I'm sorry Neal, but…Yes." The agent took a photo then zoomed in for a close-up of the message. Was the boy even aware that he had writing on his chest? There was no way he would have been able to see it while imprisoned in the light-less basement. "All done buddy." Peter tucked his phone safely back into his jacket pocket. The close-up visual alone would be evidence enough to put Holmes away for good. Clearly the man had intended for the FBI to find nothing but a lifeless body. Holmes could be now be prosecuted for attempted murder, along with all manner of additional charges including abduction of a federal employee.

"Listen kiddo," Peter patted his friend's hand. "There are going to be some things in the next few days that you'll find upsetting. I need you to understand though, that whatever anyone is doing, whatever they are asking you, giving you, it's all to help you get better. Dr Bryant is going to take care of you with the same sensitivity to your phobia that he has in the past." Peter drew in a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair while wondering if the young man was listening to any of it. By all appearances, he'd zoned out. "Neal, I need you to stay strong a little while longer and we'll get through this together okay?" Peter sighed after receiving no response other than the post-abduction standard stare. He tried again, putting a little more resolve into his tone. "Neal, do you understand? I want you to cooperate when the nurses come in to clean you up. You need to behave. Do I make myself clear?"

Peter sent his partner a pointed stare that penetrated the dark tint of the medical glasses. But, the older man soon retracted his visual scolding as he gazed into the dull blue eyes which were empty and lifeless, just like the hellhole he'd rescued the boy from mere hours before. The agent suddenly felt guilty for pushing. The young man had already been through so much and well, if he wanted to be uncooperative, have a meltdown or even throw a childish tantrum then he'd more than earned that right. Peter gave his friend an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry buddy, just do your best okay." The agent began to move away from the bed when suddenly he felt his hand restrained. The boy held up his free hand and made a fist which he shook up and down followed by a circular o shape and finally a scissors type form.

Peter tapped his friend's leg where the electronic tracking anklet should have been and headed for the door, hoping that Neal hadn't just told him where to go! It hadn't looked like an obscene gesture. As soon as he reached his interpreter, Peter did his best to mimic Neal's signing, doubting highly he'd got the movements right.

Fortunately, El's translation made sense. "Yes, okay."

Peter sighed with relief, perhaps he'd got through to the boy after all. He glanced back into the room and couldn't help wince at the sight of his young partner curled up in a ball on the bed, staring off into space as the nurses prepared the bath water around him. Perhaps… some had got through? He could only hope. But then again, the way he saw it, hope was underrated. Hope was all he'd had for thirty-eight days and in the end it had been enough. Without hope, he never would have found Neal. Everyone else had given up, and he'd come close to giving up as well but he continued looking. Hope told him that the others were wrong. Hope reminded him exactly what the young con was capable of, and if anyone could survive, Neal could. And in the end, he had. The young kid looking rumpled and disheveled, frail and confused, curled up in a ball on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed was living proof of hope.

###

Peter walked over and joined his friend and wife who had already taken up position on the hard plastic orange chairs. "What's the story Doc? What's with the not talking? And-"

"And he looks so…fragile," El butted in not prepared to wait her turn, "and why would he think he was only sixteen? And can he see okay, why does he have those dark glasses on?"

"Well…" Andy released a deep breath and held up a placating hand… "the kid's doing remarkably well considering what he's been through."

"That's the good news?" Peter remarked dryly.

"Yeah," the doctor chuckled. His friend knew him all too well. "Okay then, as for the other side of the coin, your boy is malnourished and mildly dehydrated. He has an awful gash on the left side of his head and severe bruising under and around his right foot. The cut on his head is old and somewhat healed and the foot, well, I need to take an x-ray but the fact that he's able to walk without assistance lends me to believe it shouldn't be too serious."

"That's it then?" El asked rather hopefully.

Andy shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Neal has a rather severe laceration on his right shoulder. Something's cut through several layers and my guess would be into the bone. It's fairly recent but unfortunately it's already infected. It'll need more than stitching, possibly micro-surgery if the cut has resulted in nerve damage. Plus, we're going to require blood samples and we'll need to insert an IV line to replenish his fluids and electrolytes." Andy paused, allowing a moment for El and Peter to react predictably. The pair turned their heads together and looked across through the window at the young man before settling disbelieving eyes back on the doctor.

"You couldn't have just maybe you know, stopped at the good news and given us a false sense of security?" Peter pretended to be serious.

Andy smiled. "I could have Mate but you did twist my arm so I guess it's all your fault. El, I think you need to have a word to your husband when you get home, perhaps a little lecture about quitting while you're ahead or something along those lines."

"I could give it a shot but we all know what a fat lot of good that would do." El joined in the light banter, a much needed timely relief from the seriousness of the situation.

"Hey! What two against one? That's hardly fair."

"Oh alright. I'm sorry Peter. In all fairness we should have that little chat when we get home." El winked at Andy who grinned back.

"Okay, enough about me. Andy, I hope you have some sort of miracle plan up your sleeve because I can't imagine you've forgotten the, how do I say it…" Peter looked skywards for the right words, "forgotten the sheer horrendous torment the kid put you through when you stitched up his leg?"

"Ah, I'm not sure if I remember," Andy scratched his head while searching his memories, or at least, pretending to, "... Would you be referring to how many orderlies we recruited to hold him down, or how I got kicked in the ribs, or how he screamed bloody murder so loud that security was alerted…Mmmm, I seem to have a vague recollection of that afternoon, yeah, if I squeeze my brain hard enough I can conjure up the, how did you say it, 'horrendous torment' your boy put me through."

"And here I was hoping you would have dismissed the episode as just another day at the office."

"Yeah something like that." Andy gave his friend a cheeky grin. "What can I say; I have a soft spot for your offspring."

"You do realise Neal and I are not actually related don't you? I mean, I know we joke about it but I'm beginning to worry you may think the kid is actually my son."

Andy laughed, "Well you really don't expect me to believe he's El's child do you? Sure the kid looks more like your wife than you but still, I just assumed he was from a previous-"

"Andy!" Peter rolled his eyes, used to his friend's loopy sense of humour - the agent suspected it was the resulting consequence of having to deal with patient's illnesses and injuries for years on end. "Please tell me you have a plan."

"Of course." The doctor claimed to be offended but his smiling eyes said otherwise.

"Do we need to know?"

"Well I am going to need your help, so I guess; yes you do, but…" Andy paused, his face losing the humour from moments before.

"But what?" El's voice had also lost is levity.

The doctor reached out and took El's hand, "Neal's physical injuries, at the end of the day, they're going to heal and apart from having to work around his medical phobias, I'm fairly confident that's going to be an easy fix. But…" the doctor looked back towards the room at his young patient, "Neal's mental scars," Andy shook his head, "Not so simple."

"He'll be fine Andy; he's a lot stronger than he looks." Peter's face conflicted with his statement as he began to fiddle absentmindedly with the silver chain around his neck.

"Yeah, I know Pete …I'm not sure if you realised, but those lacerations on his arm…they're self-inflicted."

"Huh?" the agent didn't understand, "Neal did that himself?" _No way._

"But why would Neal do that Andy?" El was as puzzled as her husband.

"El, I'm not a psychiatrist so professionally I'm not qualified to answer that but the boy has been alone, isolated and deprived of light for over a month. Even hardened criminals who are placed in solitary confinement for less than a week can suffer mental trauma from the isolation. Plus, there's obviously something going on in his mind right now, he's blocking memories or fighting off reliving the torment, whatever the reason, there are some serious issues that are causing him to sign instead of talk and that may also be connected to the fact he thinks he's younger than he really is… I'm sorry guys, but while Neal's going to recover from his physical injuries very quickly, the recovery of his emotional wounds…well, it's going to be a long hard road for all of us."


	4. Chapter 4

Doctor Bryant had Peter sign a couple of dozen forms as Neal's Health Care Proxy – fortunately the agent had enough foresight to insist on the official documentation after witnessing Neal's last encounter with 'red stuff oozing from the hole' he'd managed to slice into his leg with a razor sharp blade of an industrial strength box cutter. The blade had momentarily snagged on the large cardboard box Neal was attempting to open, before releasing with force, tearing straight through his designer pants and slicing an awful gash up the length of his calf. At the time of the incident, Peter came to the one and only logical conclusion that the kid, no matter how serious the medical emergency, would never willingly consent to 'having some crazed lunatic stab a pointed piece of stainless-steel through' his skin. After a little bit of arm twisting, a number of discussions back and forth across the dining table and eventually a handful of words from Elizabeth that began, 'Sweetie, please do it for me,' Neal agreed that due to his phobia, there may be an occasion where he wouldn't be rational enough to make the correct decision regarding his health. At the time his young partner signed the documents, Peter never expected he'd have a need to use it, other than to drag the kid along for his tetanus booster or at the most, a blood test. The Health Care Proxy idea was akin to getting home insurance – peace of mind for something that was considered to be highly unlikely at best. And now, as he signed his name on several pages, giving consent for Neal to have x-rays, an intravenous sedation and surgery, he began to feel more like a nervous parent, agreeing to place the health and safety of his only child into the care of someone else and less like an agent with a high-maintenance partner.

Peter ran his sweaty hands though his hair as he followed Andy back into Neal's room. The doctor had explained to both Peter and El that he was going to give the kid an oral solution that would sedate him long enough to insert an IV and begin a twilight sedation. The twilight wasn't as severe as a general sedation. With the twilight, patients would often drift in and out of consciousness and even though they may be aware of what was happening around them, their brain was too relaxed to care. Once Neal was knocked out, Andy would have his team move in to repair the shoulder, take the blood tests, do the x-rays and feed his body the nutrients it so desperately required through a tube inserted in his arm – something the young man would have thrown a first-class hysterical fit over had he been conscious.

"How you doing, sport?" Andy carried the oral solution in his hand as he approached his patient's bed, winking at Elizabeth as he nudged his way past. Neal was looking a hell of a lot better than he had since been brought in several hours before. The nurses had done a thorough job in transforming the unkempt young man into a partially familiar appearance of his suave former self. Of course, the standard hospital attire let the process down slightly. The kid was sporting grey and white striped pyjama pants and a blue cotton, one size fits all pull over shirt which made him look all too young and fragile. The doctor held out the glass. "Neal, I need you to drink this please."

The reluctant patient looked at the glass impassively then made several motions with his fingers. Andy looked to El when the boy didn't take the proffered drink.

"He said, 'No thank you.'"

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Neal," Andy tried again, "You need to drink this now please."

The young man pinched his index finger and middle finger together with his thumb.

"No." This time Peter interpreted. "Andy, hand me the glass please." The doctor passed it over and stood back. Peter held it out to his young charge. "Neal, drink this please."

Neal signed; El spoke, "Why?"

The moment of truth. Out in the corridor, Peter had mulled over how he would answer the question if it arose. He wasn't at all surprised that the kid wanted to know what was going on – everyone was acting just slightly suspicious. He'd lied to Neal before, on occasion when he considered it to be more beneficial to the outcome, and never had any qualms about it. But almost losing your 'only child' put a fresh spin on the importance of every word and action and the agent could not stomach the thought of unbalancing the miracle of finding him alive, with a lie. "It's going to relax you and put you to sleep buddy so Dr Bryant can tend to your wounds."

Neal dropped his head and stared at the hospital issue bed spread. Peter, El and Andy waited patiently for the young man to process the information. Finally Neal replied, but it was Elizabeth's voice. "I don't want to."

"I know you don't Kiddo." Peter placed his free hand atop of Neal's head. "But you can't get well again until we do this. You must be in a lot of pain from your shoulder, this will make you feel so much better."

Neal slumped even further in the bed and then reached over and picked up his file folder that Andy had placed down when he'd first walked into the room. He unclipped the pen and as the others watched on, he scrawled carelessly in large letters right across the top page, 'I don't feel anything.' He then allowed the pen to roll out of his hand, across the length of the folder, finally dropping right off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. No one cared enough to pick the pen up, all eyes lay fixated on the young man's words that were screaming with subtext.

"Neal," Andy picked up his chart and placed it out of harm's way as he made a mental note to book the first available in-house therapist, "your body may feel numb at the moment," the doctor wisely sidestepped telling the kid he was most likely in shock from everything that had happened and kept it as simple as possible, "but when that feeling wears off, you are going to start experience some fairly intense pain."

Neal's expression was blank as he tilted his head to gaze out the window that overlooked some pretty unimpressive non-descript concrete walls.

Peter put the glass of liquid down on the side table and placed gentle fingers under the boy's chin to redirect his attention back to the issue at hand. "Hey listen kiddo, if we let it go, it's just going to get worse. Dr Bryant explained that the infection might spread and you may lose the mobility in your arm if the damage to your shoulder isn't repaired."

Neal held up his pinky finger, put his fingers near his nose, touched his ear then flicked it away.

"Oh sweetie, don't say that, of course you care."

Once again Neal snapped his two fingers together with his thumb. Peter was growing tired of that particular sign real fast.

"Well young man, luckily for you, I do care and I'm the one making the decisions here." Peter held out the glass once more, "Drink this now please, Neal."

The kid looked down and studied his lap while he held up his hands and signed.

"El?"

"Do I have to?" was the interpretation.

"No actually you don't." If El and Andy were surprised by Peter's reply, it didn't show. "Doctor Bryant, we'll go with your initial preference after all. How soon can you have the suppositories sent down?"

"Immediately. I'll give the nurses' station a call right away." Andy picked up the phone but returned it to the cradle while suppressing a grin as he watched his patient reach out for the glass. If Peter didn't believe Neal was his child, then he'd be the only one!

Peter was grateful his young charge hadn't called his bluff. Unfortunately, there was no suitable alternative to the oral solution. The agent didn't even want to contemplate less suitable alternatives like having the young man forcibly held down so he wasn't feeling too guilty about the little white lie and was almost certain it wasn't deceitful enough to be bad karma and topple the whole miracle scenario. He watched with building frustration as the kid lifted the glass to his lips, sniffed it, screwed his nose up and rested it down on his lap. "Neal," Peter warned with perhaps a little more sternness than necessary, "Just drink the damn thing."

Neal took a deep breath, held his nose and gulped down the liquid as fast as he could swallow. As he returned the glass to the side table, Peter couldn't help feeling responsible for how much the kid's hand was shaking. He reached out and grabbed the glass, settling it securely out of harm's way. "Good job kiddo." Peter patted him warmly on the back of his good shoulder.

Andy moved in closer as he observed the oral solution beginning to have an immediate reaction in his young patient. Pressing the controls on the electronic bed, he adjusted the mattress until Neal was stretched out horizontal.

El leaned down and kissed her boy on the head as his eyelids became too heavy to hold open. "Everything will be just fine. See you as soon as you wake up sweetheart."

Peter ruffled the youngster's hair and made a move to follow his wife when he felt himself restrained by an especially weak hold on his shirt. He looked back down at his young friend who appeared all but completely out of it. His eyes were shut and his limbs relaxed but with what was certain to be an exhausting effort, Neal lifted his arms and moved his fingers, without the swiftness and confidence he had pre-sedation.

El gave the young man a sorrowful gaze before translating for her husband, "He asked, 'Please don't leave me Agent Burke."

"Oh…" Peter was clearly floored as his heart ached with pity. "Yeah…sure, I won't leave you buddy…I promise." He reached out to place a caring hand atop his friends but Neal maneuvered his fingers so Peter's and his were interlaced. The agent wasn't going anywhere even if he wanted to. The younger man's trembling hand felt sweaty with nerves. "Hey kiddo, it's going to be fine, nothing to worry about. I'm going to be right with you the whole time okay."

As the sedative swiftly filtered its way into his blood stream, Neal struggled to lift his free hand to wipe away a lone tear that was making tacks down his cheeks. Peter guessed what the younger man was trying to accomplish and used the corner of the sheet to dry his face. Neal gave a thankful smile and pulled his fingers free from Peters' to form another message. He sluggishly lifted both hands so one was on top of the other then his right hand made a scooping motion before return to its starting position. Before Peter could respond, Neal continued, resting a fisted hand, with the thumb sticking up, on top of the other and pushed forward.

Peter spun to ask El for the translation but she had just stepped out the door. Not that he would have been able to interpret the message anyway, but Andy was busy scribbling notes on his folder. Peter was about to call El back and ask his partner to 'say again' but he felt the fingers linked to his go limp. Neal had finally succumbed to the sedation. Peter felt a twinge of regret that he had no idea of the young man's closing words. Perhaps however, it was just as well that the agent didn't know sign language - no doubt Peter would have been extremely troubled had he understood that Neal had just signed, 'All my fault.'


	5. Chapter 5

Neal drifted back to consciousness as his brain frantically scanned for information as to where he was and what was going on. It was that same feeling he got sometimes when he awoke after a particularly restless night and it took him a moment or two to register ordinarily simple facts such as what day of the week it was, whether he was supposed to be somewhere, had he slept in, or perhaps of more urgency, was he supposed to be up and running before someone caught up with him. He struggled without success to open his eyes. But not only couldn't he open his eyes, for some unexplained reason he couldn't muster the strength to move even a single part of his entire body. He gave up trying and relaxed, like he had little choice, and began listening intently to the sounds of his environment. He could hear the hum and beeping of various machines, the clatter of metal on metal and he could hear people talking. Mostly unfamiliar voices but a couple he recognised. After a moment he became aware of an awful sterile smell assaulting his senses. It was strong like he had inhaled a bottle of rubbing alcohol or someone had splashed way too much disinfectant over the floor. He tried to hold his breath but that in itself was a chore and a half and before he knew it, he was drifting back to sleep. His last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness was that once again, he was somewhere he really didn't want to be…

…He attempted to open his eyes, but just as before, it seemed an impossible task. It was as though they had been glued shut with industrial strength cement. He concentrated as much as his fuzzy brain allowed and zoned all his strength down onto his eyelids. This time he was able to inch them open fractionally, enough to see a little slither of light breaking through. The light hurt his eyes. He pieced together fragments from his incoherent brain cells until he had a vague picture of his current predicament. He recalled that Agent Burke had brought him in after he'd rescued him from the cabin, and then had forced him drink that revolting drain water to help him relax. Agent Burke should have felt extremely fortunate he hadn't ended up with vomit all over his fed issued suit! His eyelids became too heavy to hold open any longer and he told himself that it wasn't an unreasonable decision if he were to shut them for a moment or two…

…He guessed that the relaxing drain water had worn off. He was awake again and the fog surrounding the nervous system fibres that carried his thought processes to and from his brain seemed to have lifted slightly. He looked around the room with his eyes - he was still way too tired to expect the co-operation of any muscles in his neck. Someone must have slipped his sunglasses back on for him because his eyes didn't sting nearly as much from the bright lights illuminating his surroundings. His gaze settled on the hospital room, possibly an operating theatre, which was full of people all dressed in blue outfits and matching masks. Agent Burke was one of the men in blue. Dr Bryant was another, standing close. He was giving orders to everyone. It was weird to see Dr Bryant like that. Normally the guy was laid back and easy going but now, he seemed all authoritative. The doctor moved in even closer with a pointed piece of stainless-steel. Dr Bryant simply referred to it as a needle. Neal remembered sometime in the past arguing with him saying that it should be listed on the dangerous weapons register as an instrument of torture. He watched with detached interest as the doctor stabbed him through his skin. Neal didn't feel anything. He stared at the tubes and needles protruding out of each of his arms and more wires attached to his bare chest like he was some kind of organic robot. He couldn't understand why he wasn't bothered by it or how he was so uncaring about watching the doctor weave a needle in and out of his skin. He knew it was something that would ordinarily upset him terribly but at the moment he could have cared less. Agent Burke stood on the opposite side of the bed, leaning over to talk when he noticed that Neal had opened his eyes. The older man chatted about how well he was doing and how brave he was being. Neal considered that odd because he didn't feel brave, in fact when he thought about it he really felt nothing at all. He closed his eyes and dozed off into a deep sleep…

…He woke up some time later. He wasn't sure how much later but the room was mostly empty now. It was even possible it was a different room altogether. The lights were dimmed and his sunglasses had once again been removed. One of the tubes was still in his arm but everything else had been withdrawn from his body. Agent Burke had discarded his blue outfit and was back in his standard attire, sitting over by the window. Mrs Burke was perched on the edge of his bed stroking his hair. She spoke about how she was going to make raspberry crepes with fresh Philly cream cheese as soon as he got better. Neal was impressed that out of everything she could have made, Mrs Burke was going to make his favourite desert in the whole world. He was fascinated by the coincidence. He didn't feel hungry but maybe by the time he 'got better' he'd be looking forward to a tasty raspberry crepe. It was a nice thought to have as he closed his eyes…

…The next time he awoke, he considered asking himself why he should feel so tired after all the sleep he'd had, but honestly, he couldn't be bothered. The final tube had been cleared away from his arm and he found he could move his limbs without too much effort. Agent Burke was sitting in the visitor's chair eating a rather large greasy looking burger. Mrs Burke must have cleared off back home – no way would Agent Burke be allowed to eat something so unhealthy if his wife had any say on the matter! The burger had a strong aroma but despite the fact he couldn't remember the last time he ate, he wasn't at all tempted to ask for some. When he thought about it, he didn't care if he never ate again. The whole idea of food was beginning to repulse him. He was quite relieved when the agent finally consumed the last bite of his burger even though the onion and relish scent lingering in the air was preferable to the disinfectant smell dominating the room. Agent Burke pulled his chair closer and spoke about his work and talked about people and things that were happening at the office. And…well, he honestly had no idea what the man was raving on about and if he'd been able to talk himself, he would have told the agent so. But he couldn't talk so instead, as the older man droned on, he became mesmerised by the silver chain dangling loosely around Agent Burke's neck. There was some type of shiny ornate medallion reflecting the sunbeams that had penetrating the window, in a trance inducing spherical motion across the path of his shirt. He wanted to reach out and touch the medallion but as he moved his hand, he noticed the bandage wrapping his arm from his wrist all the way up past his elbow. He touched the white sterile dressing with his fingers and searched his memories for any recent injury to his left arm. He came up blank. Agent Burke reached out and lifted his fingers off the bandage, holding them in his own. "Hey, everything's going to be just fine, buddy." Neal wondered what the old man meant by 'everything'. That seemed like a grand statement even in his hazy state of thinking. Come to think of it, all the thinking was making him incredibly drowsy and he shut his eyes and slept like a baby…

…He wasn't tired anymore. He was actually quite sick of lying in bed. He wanted to get up but he wasn't sure if he was allowed. He looked to each side of his bed for Agent Burke but both visitor chairs were empty. Perhaps the agent was off getting another burger! The lights were dim and the whole ward seemed eerily quiet. Maybe it was late and everyone was asleep. He heard noises in the distance over the speaker, someone was being paged. He looked down to the end of his room where there was a door to the bathroom. A nurse walked out carrying a jug of water. He shut his eyes quickly as she approached and he heard her place the jug onto the side table before heading out the door. He opened his eyes again. He was alone. He wasn't supposed to be alone. Agent Burke had promised he would stay. Maybe he was hungry and had left to get something to eat after all. Not necessarily a burger, maybe a coffee. Agent Burke drank lots of coffee. All the thinking about coffee and water jugs made him aware of the fact that he needed to use the bathroom. He wished Agent Burke would come back soon so he could ask if he was allowed. He didn't want to get into trouble, he was in enough already. Maybe if he was quick, no one would even notice. Making an executive decision, he jumped out of bed and…and found his face splattering against the cold linoleum surface of the floor. What the hell! He hadn't expected that. His knees and legs had buckled the moment he put weight on them. He knew he'd been lying in bed for a long time, how long he wasn't exactly sure, but for crying out loud, he was a young, fit teenager, not an old man! He pushed himself to his feet, glancing around to see if anyone had seen – it would have been monumentally embarrassing if the young female nurse had run to his rescue! He continued on his way, proceeding with caution into the bathroom.

He washed his hands and turned to reach for the towel but was momentarily startled by the silhouette in the doorway.

"Hey Darl! You gave me a fright!"

Neal stood frozen in his spot feeling for all the world like he was the one who should be saying that.

"Come on; let's get you back to bed."

Neal allowed himself to be guided back – like he had any choice in the matter. As he was being escorted he scanned the corridor wondering how long it could possibly take for Agent Burke to grab himself a coffee!

The jolly nurse guided Neal back onto the bed. At some point while she was tucking him in under the sheets, her hands must have brushed against his foot. "Oh my, darling boy, your feet are freezing! What were you thinking walking around without something to keep you warm?" The young woman shook her head but her eyes were smiling. "I told Agent Burke before I chased him home that I'd take good care of you. What would he say to me if he got back in the morning only to discover you'd caught a cold cause you've been traipsing around on these wickedly cold hospital floors in your bare feet?"

Neal didn't hear the last part. Nothing after the nurse had said that Agent Burke had gone home. Agent Burke had promised that he would stay. Neal slumped down on the pillow feeling uncertain and insecure. It was scary being in a place like this without someone who could take care of you. Anything could happen. Neal realised the nurse was talking to him. He looked up at her hoping that was enough.

"Listen Darl, I'll go rustle you up some slippers or socks for the next time you have to visit the bathroom. Is there anything else I can get you?"

Neal shut his eyes and held his breath, telling himself that if he stayed still long enough the nurse would have to assume he was sleeping and leave him alone.

"Okay then Darling boy, I'll be back soon."

His plan had worked. He listened as the young woman walked out of the room and off into the distance. He climbed back out of bed, with a hell of a lot more care than last time, and made his way over to the door. The corridor was empty and the lights were dimmed. He spied the lifts at the end of the hallway. It all seemed simple enough but still, he was uncertain and lacked his usual street-wise courage. The drain water had done a splendid job of making even a straightforward task such as escaping confinement a doubtful venture. As he snatched up his hospital issue dark tinted glasses and made tracks towards the lift, Neal vowed there'd be no more drain water for him!


	6. Chapter 6

"I should never have left him!"

"Peter, calm down! You were on the verge of exhaustion. You've been by Neal's side since finding him yesterday morning and if you hadn't left when the nurse asked you, they would be having to admit you as a patient as well!"

Peter sat down on the end of the bed and pulled on a pair of socks. "I promised him El. I should have at least waited until I could tell him I was going home to sleep and would be back first thing in the morning. The kid's scared, he's mixed up, hell, he thinks he's sixteen and he won't even talk! Where's that going to get him in the city?"

"What do you mean?" El who'd tried to be the voice of reason since Peter had received his quarter to twelve phone call from the hospital to inform him that Neal had absconded, was starting to feel that perhaps she should be the one losing control and Peter should be the one trying to console her.

The agent saw the look in his wife's eyes and forced himself to bring it down a notch. "Uh, nothing, look, it's going to be fine. Honestly, I've only myself to blame for not snapping the monitoring anklet back on the kid the minute I dragged him out of that hellhole."

"Oh honey, of course you couldn't. You'd have to be particularly heartless piece of work to have done that. No, Neal was in bad shape and that anklet was the last thing he needed."

"Yeah, maybe," Peter considered, "but it would be better for Neal now if I had."

El pulled on her sweatshirt. "Why hon? What do you think he's going to do? You can't think he's going on the run, he could barely open his eyes when we saw him late this evening."

Peter collected a warm jacket off the hook on the back of his bedroom door. "I don't know El, it's just… the hospital said he was wearing his pyjamas when he left. It's cold out, he has no money, no ID, he's not talking and… he's been through a horrendously traumatic experience. I…hell, I'd prefer it if this was all part of a cunning master plan to go off the reservation. I just hope I can find him before something…before anything else happens."

El pulled her husband in for a reassuring cuddle then released him to look him in the eye. "Of course you will Agent Burke, it's three for 0 remember?" El fondled the medallion dangling around his neck as she spoke, "Plus, you know how your CI is really bad at the whole running away thing, you said so yourself."

"Yeah, I did." Peter smiled at the memory while he waited for El to finish getting dressed. He could only hope it was as easy as last time Neal did a runner. It was unlikely either of them had the strength for anything more.

###

The Burkes were halfway down the stairs when El put an anxious hand on her husband's elbow and whispered, "Peter, did you leave the lights on in the living room?"

The agent shook his head, nudged his wife back behind him and reached for his gun. He crept down the stairs ever so slowly, mindful of the fact that at any point, a lazy golden Labrador may suddenly appear and begin licking his feet, possibly hoping for a midnight snack. Peter reached the bottom tread without incident and released a huge sigh of relief upon laying eyes on the slumbering form on the couch. Sporting dark sunglasses and the same grey and white pyjama pants and baggy blue cotton shirt he'd been dressed in after surgery, Neal appeared totally out to it. As Peter holstered his gun, he couldn't help scowling upon noticing the bare feet. If the kid had travelled all the way across town without so much as a pair of socks, he was going to wish he was back in hospital under a twilight sedation!

Having observed Peter's emotions transform from concerned anxiousness to annoyance and frustration in a matter of seconds, El took her husband by the hand and dragged him into the kitchen before he could begin to rant. Their path was well illuminated - every light in the down stairs area had been switched on, even the reading lamps. So much for their guard dog! Satchmo was sleeping soundly against the end of the couch next to his good buddy, the one whom always brought him special doggy treats.

Once safely in the kitchen, El leaned back against the counter and whispered, "How'd he get here? He's in his pyjamas...I don't understand why no one stopped him?"

"El, welcome to my world. I'm guessing all the concerned citizens of our city steered well clear of the 'escaped mental patient' and besides, since when has stealth and misdirection ever been an issue for my partner?"

Elizabeth nodded, "I see your point. So, what are we going to do?"

"What do you mean what are we going to do?" Peter raised his eyebrows like it was a foregone conclusion. "I'm going to drag his defiant little butt back to the hospital and so help me if I don't kick it several times along the way."

"Peter!" El knew it was the fright of thinking their boy was in harm's way that had him talking like he was. "Firstly, he hasn't defied anything. No one told him he had to stay in the hospital."

"No, but surely the fact that he snuck out the very minute he was alone tells you that he knew what he was doing was wrong. It's not like he was sleep-walking and just happened to make it all the way to our house of all places. No, Neal knew exactly what he was doing."

"Fair point. But hon, do you really think it's necessary to take him back? Perhaps this is the better place for him." El nodded in the direction of the living area. "Certainly it's better for you if he's here. I can't see you dropping him off at the emergency entrance and whizzing straight back home again to get your rest."

"He can't stay here El, he's…he's sick."

"No he's not. Andy patched him up, pumped all the nutrients back into his body that time allowed, did the necessary tests and everything else he could possibly squeeze into his limited window of opportunity. He said they did all they could do for the time being, and now we'd just have to wait and let Neal's body recuperate. Lots of rest and relaxation remember. And besides, where else is he going to get a better rest than right here."

"I don't know El…" Peter pointed to his forearm with his right index finger. "What about…you know…"

"Remember when Neal got tossed into the trash dumpster and sliced open his arm? Do you recall what Andy told us at the time? He said people like Neal; they heal better in their own home environment, where they feel far more comfortable and secure. With his current mental state, Neal doesn't need to be lumped with the additional stress of trying to recover in a cold, impersonal hospital ward."

Peter began to waver. "I…I'm not sure hon. It's… the kid may be a danger to himself. How the hell are we supposed to know what to do with that?"

"Honey, I can guarantee you; no one knows how that boy's mind operates better than you do. This is the place to start his healing." El waved her hand around the kitchen. "Neal just travelled in the middle of the night, in his bare feet and pyjamas no less, to be here with us. With the exception of June's, this right here," El nodded in the direction of the living room, "is possibly the only place he's ever going to feel secure enough to emerge from whatever psychological barrier he's put in place to help him survive these last five weeks."

Peter conceded that his brilliant wife was correct, once again, as he dropped his tired head down upon her shoulder. "You know I'm not at all happy about him walking over here in his bare feet?"

"Yes I know hon, and I'm sure at some point in the next day or two you'll be reminding him that the next time he is rescued from a dungeon after thirty-eight days and walks miles in the middle of the night just to be with you, he must wear something on his feet or he'll find out just how displeased you are." El nudged her husband off her shoulder. "Now how about we make a move before I have to deal with two sleeping men in my living room."

"Fine." Peter rolled his eyes at his all too knowing wife. "I'll just give Andy a quick call to check that it's alright."

"Peter, you can call Andy in the morning. He's as exhausted as you are, possibly more. Nothing is going to change between now and morning. I'll phone the hospital to let them know we've found Neal while you are taking him up to the guest room."

"What! Surely you're not expecting me to carry him up the stairs, put him into bed and tuck him in?"

"Of course not silly." El shoved her husband back out the kitchen door as she made her way over to the phone. "Wake him up gently, help him up the stairs and then put him into bed and tuck him in."

"El," Peter whined, like he was the designated sixteen year old, "Why can't he just sleep on the couch? It's more than comfortable enough."

"That's not what you've told me after every time you've fallen asleep on the couch watching a game."

"But he's…smaller than me. He fits perfectly."

"Peter…" El used THAT tone.

"Oh alright. But the last thing I'm going to say on the matter is, let sleeping dogs lie and…you know, the rest."

It was El's turn to roll her eyes as she dialed the phone. "There is no rest, Peter. Stop your stalling and just do it already."

The agent sighed deeply and ambled over to his young charge. He pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips, glaring down at the youngster as he listened to his wife informing someone on the other end of the phone that Neal was safe and sound and would be spending the night at Hotel Burke. Peter shook his head. How did the boy, even in his unconscious state, manage to charm everyone until he got everything just the way he wanted. "Neal…Neal!" Peter shook the kid's shoulder, conscious not to shake the injured side. "Neal!" Louder this time. "Neal! No way I'm carrying you up those stairs!" Peter huffed and was about to give the kid a not so gentle slap on his face when he finally opened his eyes and tilted his head back until he looked up into the exasperated eyes of the older man.

Peter couldn't help notice, even through the dark tin of the sunglasses and the heavy eyelids, relief registering in the young man eyes. Neal gave the agent a small thankful smile, enough for Peter to swallow the lump in his throat and have an immediate change in attitude towards his young charge. "Come on kiddo; let's get you up to bed." Peter reached under and supported the younger man as he climbed to his feet. He was shocked to feel how light and fragile his young partner felt. The last time, when he'd practically dragged Neal in to have his leg stitched, Peter had considered the kid to be rather solid for his size, but now, it was like lifting a child. Peter reasoned he could easily carry him up the stairs if need be. As it turned out, it wasn't necessary. Neal leaned in against Peter's shoulder and allowed himself to be effortlessly guided up the stairs. If only the boy were always this compliant, the agent contemplated.

Peter gently lowered Neal onto the bed and reached behind him to switch off the light. Had he been less exhausted himself, he may have registered the young man's concerned reaction to the sudden absence of light. Neal held up his hand, about to sign, but Peter pushed it back under the sheet and actually tucked him in. "Good night, buddy." The agent carefully pulled Neal's sunglasses off and placed them on the side table. "Won't need these while you're sleeping." Then, giving the boy a loving pat on his head, he walked over to the door and called back, "Come and get me if you need anything."

Neal watched the agent disappear down the hall. He knew he wasn't alone. He was at the Burkes. Mrs Burke and Agent Burke were in the next room. Satchmo was downstairs. It was a full house. Full of security and comfort and…life. So why did he feel so lonely and scared. He wished Agent Burke had left the light on. He would have got up to switch it on but then it would shine into the other bedroom. He lay in bed for ages listening to his heart beat faster and faster. He began to fiddle with the bandage on his left arm and then the one on his shoulder. His heart began to thump against the inside of his chest so he sat up, wondering what he should do. He looked around the room but couldn't see much. He could make out the frame of the doorway, just. With some effort he stood up on shaky legs. This time however, the shakes were from nerves, not from under use. He made his way over to the door and looked out. Nothing but blackness everywhere. He rested his back against the wall and slid to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his legs and wondered how long it would be before it was light again. He hoped it wasn't a long time. Of course even mere minutes feel like an eternity when you were afraid.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter reached out a tired arm and brought it down to rest on the snooze button – it had been the third reset since the original wake up alarm had gone off more than thirty minutes earlier. He resisted the urge to the bring his fist down upon the annoying machine and temptingly shattering it into an unworkable condition. But he reminded himself it wasn't the clock-radio's fault he had to get an early start after… what would you call the night he had - crazy, unbelievable, a sign of things to come? … after the restless night he'd had. Peter rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes willing himself not to go back to sleep before the allocated snooze time expired, once again. He wished circumstances were different and he didn't have to go into the office but it was urgent he assisted the leading agents in the Holmes case with the latest reports relating to Neal's rescue. Agents Holloway and Fench were anxious to talk to Peter but had left him alone at the hospital while he tended to his young partner. He had been grateful for the consideration and had promised to head into the Bureau sometime today for a debriefing.

Peter had not been allowed to take the lead in the Holmes case himself. At first he had screamed and bellowed and argued and threatened but it was all in vein – as Hughes had pointed out, no boss in their right mind would let Peter within firing range of the detained suspect. Franklin Holmes had been arrested less than 48 hours after taking Neal.

Unlike every other time he'd ever gotten himself in trouble during a case, Neal had been an innocent bystander in a series of events that had ultimately led to his abduction. Six months before his young CI had been taken; Peter had been the arresting officer for a high profile case involving Franklin Holmes' brother - Burton Holmes. As the case approached trial, Franklin had snatched Neal, expecting to use him as a pawn in negotiations for his brother's release.

Peter considered himself to be responsible. He'd called Neal early one morning, saying he would swing by to pick him up, giving him ten minutes to be ready and waiting. The plan was to pick his partner up and head straight onto a crime scene downtown. Unfortunately, the ten minutes turned into more like an hour and ten minutes – Peter had been involved in a three car pile-up a mere five blocks from June's mansion. The car in front of Peter had stopped suddenly, Peter had barely avoided running into him. Unfortunately the car behind Peter hadn't been so fortunate. When he finally arrived to pick Neal up, there was no sign of the young CI at the designated waiting spot – a low-set concrete retaining wall outside June's front door.

At the time, Peter had been furious Neal hadn't been patient enough to wait around. Of course, the fury turn to panic when soon after, he received a call from the Marshalls informing him that Neal's tracker had been cut. He was to find out later that Franklin had taken his partner to a desolate property a couple of hours up the interstate. Once Franklin had locked Neal up in the basement with minimal provisions to survive for a very long time, he had returned to the city. The low-life crim had then contacted Peter, threatening him with his partner's life saying that if the agent didn't 'misplace' the evidence against his brother, he'd never see Neal alive again. He also told Peter if he involved the bureau, he'd have to live with the guilt when he collected the wasted body of the beautiful young man, knowing full well how easily he could have prevented it. Peter of course countered the threats by bringing in every law enforcement officer on the eastern seaboard.

Franklin was arrested the following day and despite over a month of interrogations and his brother's case proceeding as expected with a resounding guilty verdict, Franklin refused to give up the location of Neal's confinement.

When Peter was honest with himself, he had to admit that Hughes had been right. Had he ever been allowed in the same room as Franklin Holmes, the deplorable scum would have been lucky to come out with only a single bullet put through both knee caps. He deserved so much more!

As the days and then the weeks progressed, more and more agents involved in the case would give Peter 'the look' although not one of them was every insensitive enough to voice their opinion out loud. Obviously behind closed doors they would discuss Neal's case like it was a foregone conclusion of the young CI's demise, but despite that they remained vigilant in their search. Peter cared, so they cared. Everyone at White Collar had the utmost respect for the senior agent and wouldn't contemplate for a second, disregarding any order issued by the seasoned agent.

During the fifth week of Neal's absence, at a time when Peter himself was almost ready to throw in the towel, the Bureau received a fresh lead. The agent had spent most of the weekend revisiting recordings of the interviews conducted during the investigation. He picked up on something Franklin's ex-girlfriend had mentioned in passing about a fond memory she had of a picnic to the country a number of years before. He called the young woman back in and amazingly, the information they'd been praying for and almost believed they would never receive, led them straight to the young man and his subsequent rescue.

The snooze expired once more, waking Peter from his thoughts. This time he allowed the radio to play in the background. No doubt El would be getting up soon anyway – they had worked out last night after they'd put Neal to bed that El would stay home to look after the fragile young man giving Peter a much needed opportunity to go into the office to work on the Holmes case. El had been informed by the duty nurse over the phone while Peter was tending to Neal that he had a 2:30 appointment with the therapist at the hospital, plus a scheduled check-up to have his wounds redressed. The timing of the appointments allowed Peter enough time to get back from the office, take the kid over to Junes to collect clothes and personal belongings and make it across town in time for his sessions.

But time was a wasting! Peter snagged the chain around his neck and brought the medallion up to his lips, giving it a thankful kiss as he pushed back the covers and climbed reluctantly out of bed. With blurry eyes, he headed towards the bathroom but didn't make it more than a single step as he found himself face-planting the carpet. "What the-!"

If the sudden thud on the floor hadn't woken El from her slumber then certainly the yelling did. "Peter! W-what's wrong? Are you okay? What are you doing on the floor?"

The agent untangled himself, rubbed the tender side of his face that had just collided with the floor and sat up, getting his mind around what on earth had happened. He wouldn't normally trip while climbing out of bed but then again, he wouldn't normally have a grown man sleeping on the floor beside said bed either. "Neal, what the hell are you doing!"

Of course, there was no need to shout. The young man was right beside him, right on the floor tangled up in each other's limbs. Neal pushed himself up off the floor and looked blankly at the older man. The kid had obviously been in a deep sleep and was having trouble registering his surroundings. El came around from her side of the bed and was unable to suppress a smile at seeing her two boys piled together on the floor in their pyjamas, all ruffled liked they'd just been involved in a pillow fight of sorts. "You two having fun?"

Peter didn't give El the satisfaction of a response; instead he grabbed his young charge by the back of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. "Neal. What. Are. You. Doing!" Each word was pronounced with extreme articulation.

At first the young man just stood unresponsive, staring at the floor, then, when it appeared Peter would give himself a stroke from all the blood that had rushed to his face, Neal waved his fingers in a number of deliberate patterns.

Peter looked to his wife for assistance. "He said he's not real sure. He thinks he may have been sleepwalking."

The agent mentally kicked himself, troubled by the thought that he'd been way too casual with his supervision of Neal through the night. The kid could have ended up anywhere, doing anything. Perhaps he'd made a huge mistake allowing El to talk him into taking care of the kid. He'd chat with Andy this afternoon at the therapy appointment and maybe they'd end up readmitting the needy patient after all.

El stepped closer after it was obvious Peter wasn't sure what to do next. "Neal, sweetie, why don't you go and wash your face in the other bathroom. I'll leave some of Peter's clothes on your bed so you can get out of your pyjamas." She took the boy's arm and gently led him from the room. Neal seemed reluctant to follow, glancing over his shoulder with a fretful expression at the agent as he rounded the corner out of sight.

###

By the time Neal and El made it downstairs, Peter was dressed and ready to head out the door. El kissed her husband then left him alone with Neal while she tended to Satchmo out on the back porch. Peter eyed his young partner as he adjusted his tie. The kid looked so young having lost a whole heap of weight, the loaned t-shirt all but falling off his scrawny shoulders. "Okay buddy, I've got to go into the office for a few hours to…to finalize some paper work but I'll be back early this afternoon to take you to the hospital." Peter held up his hand as he observed the horrified expression appear on his young charge's face. "No, don't panic. It's no big deal. You've got an appointment with Dr Kiri Turner. She's the resident psychiatrist and all she is going to do is sit with you and have a little chat, ask how you're feeling, all the stuff you find a walk in the park," _normally._ Peter smiled brightly hoping that would ease his partner's escalating anxiety. He checked his watch, time to make a move. "Anyway kiddo, I've got to go. I'll be back home soon to pick you up. El's coming back in to make you breakfast…."

Neal began to sign, rather anxiously.

"Uh, sorry Neal, I don't understand."

Neal signed some more, different formations this time.

"Nope, still don't get it. All I know at the moment is yes and no, but as I said, El will be back inside in a minute and she can get you whatever you need."

Neal looked around the room, possibly searching out a pen and paper. Andy had been adamant against the use of that in the hospital saying it would only encourage the kid to stay locked behind his barrier even longer than necessary. He would never start talking again if he didn't need to. "Sorry bud, unless you want to use your words you'll have to wait until I get back." Peter waited a moment to see if his young partner would decide to speak but all he got in reply was a set of dejected eyes and defeated shoulders that slumped even lower than they already were. With a pang of guilt, Peter patted the boy on his arm and stepped out the door, locking it securely behind him. He almost jogged to the car, rationalizing that the sooner he got to the office, the sooner he would be able to return.

###

"Excuse me," Agent Fench's junior offsider knocked on the door to the conference room, interrupting the debriefing, "Agent Burke, your wife is on line three."

Peter's senses went on full alert, his immediate reaction was to think the worse - had something happened to Neal? As he entered his office he checked his cell and sure enough, a missed call from home. He'd put his cell on silent for the meeting but checked it every twenty minutes or so – at least he was slightly reassured to know that El hadn't been trying to contact him for too long. He perched on the edge of the table and pressed line three. "El?" Peter had learnt from experience not to initiate the conversation with a string of questions. It was far more efficient to announce yourself and then allow the person on the other end to blurt out all the pertinent information. It was an art form that El was yet to learn!

"Hey hon, everything' fine, so I'm sorry to bother you…Neal's sitting on the couch…" Peter resumed his regular breathing, not having realised he was actually holding his breath. "…but I was just wondering if there's any chance you can come home sooner rather than later."

"Of course," Peter began collecting his wallet and keys as he spoke. "I'm on my way, what happened?" Apparently all was not fine after all.

"Neal's waiting for you to come home."

_Oh surely not!_ Peter put his keys and wallet back on the table. "El, did you let him get to you? He's talked you into making this call? If there's nothing wrong with him then he can wait till I finish up here."

"Peter," Elizabeth's voice softened like she didn't want to be overheard, "Neal hasn't talked me into anything, in fact, he hasn't talked, signed, spoken, gestured, communicated in any manner or form since you walked out the door three hours ago. When I came in back in from feeding Satchmo, you were locking the front door and…well, Neal sat down on the couch and hasn't moved since. I offered him breakfast, I offered him water, I offered him a wine, I offered him lunch, I asked him if he wanted the TV on, I asked him if he wanted a book to read, I asked him if he wanted me to take him for a drive, I-"

"I get it. It's okay, hon; I'll be home in twenty minutes." Peter could tell that his wife was on the verge of a break down. "I'm walking out the door now."

###

Peter reached for his keys to unlock the front door but El beat him to it. She must have been watching from the window. He felt so guilty for having left her but at the same time, both of them understood the importance of doing whatever was necessary to have Franklin Holmes put away for the rest of his life. Still, "You okay hon? I'm so sorry."

Elizabeth embraced her husband like she hadn't seen him for days. "You weren't to know, besides, I was the one who talked you into this arrangement, and despite his 'passive resistance' sit-in, I still believe he is going to heal faster here than at the hospital."

"We'll see." At this stage Peter was almost certain he was going to readmit the youngster once they had finished with the psych appointment. He stepped past his wife and into the living room. Yep. He'd be delivering the kid into the capable hands of the health care professionals without a doubt. Neal lay on the couch, curled up in a ball, staring off into space. "Hey buddy." The agent squeezed himself onto the end of the couch, nudging the boy's legs out of the way.

Neal spun around in surprise upon hearing the agent's voice, like he hadn't even registered that he'd entered the room. He immediately uncurled himself, sat up and began signing. El was so bewildered after spending the past four hours with the boy in non-communication mode that she forgot for a moment that Peter couldn't understand.

"El, what did he say?"

"Ah, he said, 'you're home Agent Burke, I thought maybe you weren't coming back.'"

Peter shook his head apologetically at his young partner then up at El. Andy had been right; it was going to be a long hard road for all of them.


	8. Chapter 8

The next couple of days were uneventful – uneventful in the respect that no major crisis occurred, although there were lots of little stumbling stones along the way to help fill the void. The trip in to see Dr Turner had been a complete waste of time, Neal had been as talkative with her as he had been with El. It had been a frustrating hour for Peter although at the end of the session, the young psychiatrist had concurred with Dr Bryant that Neal's chances of healing sooner rather than later would be more favourable in a loving, stable home environment as opposed to an impersonal hospital ward.

According to Dr Turner, even though the young man for the time being should not be left on his own, there appeared to be no immediate danger of Neal doing more harm to himself, with the exception of the self-imposed starvation diet he was on. Andy had sat in on the session and Peter had informed both doctors that Neal hadn't eaten anything for breakfast or lunch. It was decided that if Peter and El couldn't get the boy to eat a substantial amount, Andy was going to be left with no choice but to readmit Neal and stick him on an intravenous drip – something neither of them could envision! But despite the eating issue, Dr Turner and Andy had signed off on the papers discharging Neal into Peter's care. The agent couldn't help feeling a sense of déjà vu at having the young con once again been placed under his supervision. Andy didn't need to see the kid again until the following week, at which time he would assess the progress of Neal's injuries. The cloth bandages had been removed, leaving only the waterproof opaque band-aids to cover the multitude of healing scars. The doctor reassured Peter that help was only a phone call away and that he'd be happy to make a house call any time, day or night for any reason. He even offered to babysit their 'teenage son' if Peter and El wanted to go out for a romantic dinner

The following day, Peter called Dr Turner for advice. So far all he and El had been able to get Neal to eat was a couple of pieces of toast and a quarter of a sandwich. The kid kept signing, 'No thank you' and 'I'm not hungry' and 'I don't feel like eating.' It was still early days but if Peter sat at the dining table with Neal one more time while he signed those phrases he was likely to reach out and break the kid's fingers! Dr Turner had explained to Peter, that the young man was going to have to get used to enjoying eating all over again after it no doubt became a heinous experience every time he ate during his incarceration. She reminded Peter to steer clear of foods like pasta that would bring about unpleasant memories of the tinned spaghetti. Peter instantly felt bad for the finger breaking thoughts, but then again, somehow he was going to have to get the kid to eat a hell of a lot more than he was – no way could he stomach dragging him in to have an IV inserted.

Unfortunately, the food problem was just the tip of the iceberg. Peter was barely allowed to go the bathroom without his shadow. Neal followed the agent everywhere. If Peter moved from the table to the living room, Neal trailed behind. When Peter took Satchmo for a walk, Neal walked too. When Peter got out of the shower, the kid would be sitting on the bed waiting. It freaked Peter out no end! El, who interestingly enough had no such faithful companion, told Peter to relax, that it was just a phase and once Neal felt secure within himself once more, it would be back to the good ole days of tracking anklets and monitoring data. Peter couldn't wait!

As it was, each night he'd put the kid to bed, switch off the lights - if he didn't, Neal would forget - and wake up to find the young con asleep on the floor beside his bed. He hadn't tripped over him since that first morning, thank goodness for small mercies, but at some point the sleep-walking had to stop, _surely_.

To top off the list of post confinement troubles, there was the additional frustration of not being able to communicate like mature adults – not that he'd ever considered Neal mature. Not for a second. Not by a long shot. Andy had confirmed the non-vocalization was psychological, not physiological so until Neal was prepared to talk again, signing would be the designated method of interaction. So far Peter had been able to learn a few signs. He knew 'yes', 'no' and 'thank you.' He was pretty sure he could work out when Neal was signing Agent Burke. The agent had asked the boy to call him Peter, like he always had in the past, but as far as he knew, Neal was still seeing the older man as exactly that, older, senior, in charge, in control, someone who gave the orders that were to be followed. Under ordinary circumstances, Peter would have drooled over his young partner displaying even a semblance of respect for his seniority but right now, he would give anything for things to be back the way they were.

After almost three days of being shadowed, Peter was most relieved to get a call from the office asking him to come in to make a statement for the prosecution's case and work through some of the evidence for the trial. Not wanting to leave El in the lurch like last time, Peter waited until Neal had changed out of his pyjamas and forced down a dry piece of toast before donning his jacket and briefcase and heading to the door. As he kissed El goodbye he whispered in her ear not to hesitate to call if needed. Neal followed Peter to the door and waved his fingers frantically when he became aware the agent was leaving without him.

"He wants to come too." El advised.

"Sorry bud. Not today. But listen, I'll make you a deal, as soon as you start talking again, I'll take you in to say hello to everyone at the office."

Neal signed some more.

"He doesn't want you to go, wants to know why you have to leave."

"I have to go to sort out a few things at the Bureau, but I'll be home early. Now listen to El. Answer her when she talks to you please and make sure you eat everything she puts in front of you for lunch."

Neal pouted, snapping his two fingers together with his thumb. No

"Yes." Peter suddenly became very stern. "And I won't be at all pleased if I get home and find out you've not done as El has asked…am I clear?"

Neal crossed his arms and glared at the floor.

"Neal. Am. I. Clear?"

The young con lifted his hand, balled his fist and shook it up and down.

"Good." Peter kissed his wife, whispered good luck in her ear and stepped out the door into the freedom of the open air, like a prisoner being discharged on day release.

###

As promised, Peter got home as soon as possible – although not soon enough where El was concerned. It had been far from a pleasant morning - the kid had once again remained on the couch, refusing to eat and basically, had not followed a single instruction she had issued. Needless to say, El was feeling both hopeless and frustrated after dealing with the non-compliant. She debriefed Peter in the kitchen while pouring the first of possibly many glasses of wine for the night. Between sips El explained that she'd sat with her young charge on the couch for ages trying desperately to get him to at least try the ham salad sandwich, which he had not. She had tried to get him off the couch by suggesting they both take Satchmo for a walk – Neal had politely reclined, several times. She had told him he no longer needed to wear the dark tinted sunglasses, particularly indoors, but they had remained fixed to his face all morning. Finally she had warned Neal that 'Agent Burke' would not be at all happy when he got home to hear that he'd done nothing but channel surf all day while stretched out on the couch. Neal had simply shrugged and gone back to pressing buttons, showing no actual interest in whatever was on the screen. Peter was not at all impressed. This was deliberate behaviour, it was unacceptable and it was going to cease.

The agent stood in front of the couch, hands crossed, jaw set for a stern lecture. His disobedient charge sat uncomfortably on the couch, realisation dawning that perhaps he should have minded Mrs Burke throughout the day. It was just that he'd been feeling bothered and let-down that Agent Burke had up and left this morning, without any consideration whatsoever for his well-being. And besides, he didn't feel like doing anything anyway. What was it with Mrs Burke and all her over-the-top concern for him stretching his legs? Neal lifted his eyes for a moment and glanced up into the aggravated expression of the agent. The kid gulped, pushed himself further back into the couch and once again studied the carpet.

"Neal!"

The young man reluctantly made eye contact with Peter.

"Neal, I'm not at all happy with what El has just told me. I asked you specifically to listen to El and it seems all you've done is loafed on that seat all day!" Peter jabbed a finger at the couch.

Neal cringed, caught red handed! Without been too obvious, he took off his glasses, laid them to the side, eased himself up off said piece of furniture and stood just out of arm's reach of the agent.

Peter shook his head. "Too little, too late. Did you eat your lunch today when El asked?"

Neal signed. _No._

"Did Elizabeth ask you to go with her to take Satchmo for a walk?"

Neal lifted his balled fist up and down. _Yes_.

"Did she ask you more than once?"

_Yes._

"How many times did she ask you?"

Neal looked nervously over at Mrs Burke. This wasn't boding well for him at all. He held up four fingers.

"And did you take Satchmo for a walk?"

Neal moved his fingers; Peter worked it out - _No Agent Burke._

"Did you, at any point, remove your lazy butt off the couch?"

_No._

"Did you do anything at all today, young man that Elizabeth asked of you?"

The kid moved his fingers ever so slightly.

"What's that Neal? I can't hear you."

This time the Neal's fingers clearly formed no. He took a small step back, registering that getting off the couch a few moments ago may have been a critical error.

Peter pursed his lips, contemplating the obstinate younger man. It really wasn't a hard stretch of the imagination to think of him as an insolent teenager, particularly after slouching on the couch all day and ignoring 'mom's' directions, several times. The agent came to a decision, if Neal was going to act like a kid; he wasn't going to have any trouble treating him like one. Without giving it more than a seconds thought, Peter stepped forward, grabbed the kid by his upper arm, turned him sideways and walloped him soundly at least half a dozen times across the seat of his pants.

Neal winced and squirmed but remained silent. Peter released the boy, surprised by his reaction. He'd paddled his wayward partner enough times to have an expectation that the younger man always had something to say on the matter. He could count on lots of, 'Ow's and Yeows!' Often a cry of innocence or an appeal for a last minute reprieve. At the very least, an 'Arrrh, Peter, would you stop it already!' But it was a sign of the times that his young charge simply took his punishment without a single reaction, dropped his gaze and looked sorrowfully at the floor.

Peter glanced back at El for help, hoping for a reassuring signal that he'd done the right thing but his wife appeared as perplexed as he was. "Neal," the agent used a gentle voice, having depleted all his anger, "tomorrow when I get home, I want to hear that you've done everything Elizabeth has asked of you. Do you understand?"

Neal nodded his head but didn't look up as he lifted his hand to sign, _Yes._

"Good, now go put on your shoes and grab your coat. You are going out with Elizabeth to take Satchmo for a walk." Despite his passive reaction to the swats, Neal had to learn there was an expectation to follow directions and consequences if he did not.

Neal signed, Yes Agent Burke, before walking over to stand before El. Without looking up, Neal moved his fingers with speed.

El reached out and lifted the young man's chin so she could look him in the eye. "Apology accepted, sweetie, now go get your coat before Satchmo starts to get a false sense of security that he no longer has to exercise."

Neal gave a small smile, nodded and left the room.

El and Peter looked at each other before dropping tired heads onto each other's shoulders. It really was a lot like having a challenging teenager in the house. Hopefully this one was going to grow up an awful lot faster than all the other sixteen year olds on the planet!


	9. Chapter 9

After sitting with the kid for well over an hour while Neal reluctantly made his way through a rather pitiful serving of El's ordinarily popular chicken mango with tomato salsa, Peter was quite relieved when it was time to call it a night. As per their routine, he gave Neal plenty of time to be dressed in his pyjamas before walking down the hall to enter the younger man's room. Neal never shut the door and one time was one too many for Peter, having walked in while the kid was buck-naked! The agent strolled over and sat on the edge of the boy's bed, pondering how long the projection of dependence would emanate so strongly from this fragile young man. It was unlike Neal to rely so deeply on another. The con had cultivated a whole persona of being strong, confident, independent and untouchable. The fact that he thought he could do things without Peter, often got him in trouble at the Bureau.

This…boy…laying under the covers looking so nervy - a look he always got as Peter said goodnight, wasn't even recognizable as the suave con with the charming smile everyone at the Bureau loved – well, some found him downright annoying and pretentious but that was par for the course.

Peter ruffled the kid's hair; made sure the blankets were sufficiently warm and walked over to the light. He reached up to flick it off but something made him stop in mid-motion. He turned around slowly and looked back at his partner. The kid's face had changed. Instead of appearing nervous, he now looked panicked and distressed. Peter moved his hand away from the switch and immediate relief blanketed the boy. Peter sat back down on the bed. "Neal…would you rather I left the light on?"

_Yes._ The signing was clear.

"I'm sorry Neal, I hadn't realised. You should have told me. When something like this reminds you of…of what you went through, please tell, okay?"

The young man signed 'yes' once again and then brought his flat hand up to his lips and moved it away towards Peter.

The agent was pretty sure that one meant 'thank you'. "Alright kiddo, time to get some sleep. Tomorrow El will take you shopping to pick out a night light for your room, that way you can chose what you want to have on. Goodnight bud." Had he been his real son, Peter would have leant over and kissed the boy on his forehead, but he wasn't, despite all evidence to the contrary, so he settled for patting the side of his cheek and smiling caringly.

The light incident gave Peter more cause to think about everything Neal had been through and his own inability to care sufficiently for his friend. He lay awake for ages mulling over everything that had taken place and as a result was in a deep sleep when the alarm went off the next morning. He climbed out of bed, careful not to step on Neal except…except Neal wasn't there. Peter's adrenaline kicked in real fast and he sprung to his feet. Grabbing his dressing gown but not bothering with his slippers, Peter strode purposefully down the hall to the younger man's room and then sighed with relief. Neal was lying in his bed, under the covers, sleeping soundly, right where he'd left him several hours before. Peter smiled at the sight and ran relieved hands through his undoubtedly greying hair. He started back down the hall but as an afterthought, returned to the doorway and flicked off the light switch. He was feeling rather proud of himself, much like a parent whose infant has just slept through the night for the first time, as he moseyed on back to his own bedroom. Now if he could just make it through Neal's appointment with Andy at the hospital in two days' time, he'd consider assigning himself some type of award. Peter shook his head. Who was he kidding! The dreaded appointment was destined to be a train-wreck!

###

Each day Neal got a little better – the boy was a little less clingy towards Peter, a little more trusting of El, a little less reluctant to step outside onto the back porch to sit with Satchmo, but still, absolutely no progress had been made whatsoever on the eating front. What was Dr Bryant going to say about Neal's weight loss when he examined him in the morning? The agent felt like he'd be the one getting the dressing down! As the trio sat down for dinner, both El and Peter had the same thought – here we go again!

El served up Neal a less than moderate serve of roast beef and vegies. Neal was yet to initiate any move involving placing food on his plate so El had taken over that role. The young man looked unhappily at the food like it was mound of mud and slumped in his seat, signing the words, 'I'm not hungry.'

"Damn it, Neal, of course you are hungry! You can't get used to eating again if…if you know, you don't actually eat! Dr Bryant's not going to be at all impressed when he sees you've lost even more weight when he examines you tomorrow."

Neal sat bolt upright in his chair, his eyes widening like saucers and he signed frantically.

El shook her head at Peter. They'd agreed not to say anything about the appointment until they were in the car on their way to the hospital but her husband had just blown that master plan big time.

"What's he saying El?"

"What do you think he's saying Peter?" El had given up on eating, knowing there was going to be a performance.

"Let me guess, I don't want to go to the appointment?"

"No."

"No?" Peter had thought for sure.

"He said, 'I'm NOT going to the appointment'."

Peter sighed deeply and put down his knife and fork, also giving up on any thought of eating his own meal. "Neal, you are going, it's not something you have a choice about. End of discussion."

Of course it wasn't the end where Neal was concerned. He moved his fingers quite forcefully.

"He said he's not going and you can't make him."

Peter snorted, "Oh yes I can buddy boy. I'll be taking you to the appointment if I have to drag you there by your ear."

Neal held up his fingers close to Peter's face and snapped, _No_

The frustrated agent sighed once again. He only had himself to blame. "Neal, I'm not discussing this with you now. Eat your dinner please; I do not want to be sitting here for the next two hours watching you eat your vegetables one pea at a time."

Neal slouched back in his seat and waved his fingers, equally frustrated.

Peter knew what the kid had just signed, no need for the translation. _I'm not hungry!_ He'd seen it enough times already. The older man slammed his cutlery down on the table, surprising both Elizabeth and Neal. Then without explanation, he pushed up from the table and stormed into the kitchen. El shook her head and rolled her eyes. She had known they'd be a scene or two of sorts. It had been inevitable! The two remaining diners listened curiously to the sounds of Peter foraging through the drawers in the kitchen. A moment later he returned, obviously having found what he was after. He sat back at his seat and as he did, he rested an old wooden ruler at the top of Neal's plate, where a desert spoon should be placed.

The younger man gulped and looked up with a startled expression, hoping the accompanying explanation wasn't going to be anything like what he had just envisioned. Sadly however, it was exactly what he'd envisioned!

"I've had enough of this nonsense Neal so listen up. The next time we sit down to a meal and you sign anything to do with not being hungry, or you don't feel like eating, or you're full, or even this," Peter made the 'no' sign with his own fingers, "You're going to be so uncomfortable sitting on that chair that you're going to want to finish your meal as quickly as you possibly can!"

Neal winced and squirmed on his chair in some kind of pre-emptive pain.

"Now, do I make myself clear young man, or will you be needing a demonstration."

Neal shook his head, not willing to take a gamble on using the 'no' sign.

"Good. Now, let's try this again shall we…Neal, eat your dinner."

The younger man looked over to Elizabeth, realistic enough to know she wouldn't be supporting him in any manner or form when it came to his self-imposed diet. Sure enough, all she offered was a simple nod towards his plate, like, 'there's your food, now eat it like a good little boy'. Neal was defeated on both flanks. With great reluctance he picked up his cutlery and stabbed it into his potato.

El smiled happily; finally, someone was going to eat something.

Peter looked down at his food. All motivation to eat his own meal having been depleted during the 'negotiations'. He glanced over at El, wondering if she'd let him get away with skipping. Of course, he didn't bother asking, he knew what her reaction would be and it wouldn't be pretty. With great reluctance, Peter picked up his fork and stabbed it into a piece of chicken. Probably for the best he conceded - he was going to need all the stamina he could muster to take on the kid and what was sure to be a full blown tantrum when he dragged him to the doctor's tomorrow morning!


	10. Chapter 10

The blasted clock-radio announced way too cheerfully that it was time to rise and shine. Peter considered it was high time he invested in an iPod so he could program it to wake him with pleasant music of his choosing, instead of the annoying crap the radio stations seemed intent on regarding as 'feel good', easy listening, morning music. There was nothing 'feel good' about the current song – 'Thorn in my side', although Peter had to admit it may have been the anxiety of facing Neal's doctor's appointment and not his dislike for Eurythmics that had him feeling so damn irritable. In actual fact, he was a big fan of Annie Lennox and suddenly, he felt rather lousy for bashing her music.

He felt El stir beside him and soon after she rolled over to give him a much needed good morning hug. Neither of them were looking forward to facing today, particularly since Peter had let the cat out of the bag and given the kid the head's up about the doctor's visit.

"Hey honey, don't stress too much. Perhaps he'll be compliant and well behaved and you'll get home and tell me all the worry was for nothing. Remember how well he did at the hospital when they first brought him in?"

"Remember how easily he escaped as soon as they took their eyes off him?"

El smiled. _How could you argue with that?_ "I'm just saying, everything else's he's done has been different from the norm. It may also be the case with his appointment today. You never know. It may be a simple case of breezing in, getting him checked out, and breezing back out again."

"Hon, that's what I love about you."

"What?"

"Your optimism…," El smiled proudly, "…as misguided as it may be."

El slapped her husband lightly on the shoulder, "Up mister, you have your partner to take care of and an appointment to make."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter crawled out of bed, checking the floor, which had become standard practice of late, but once again the coast was clear. That problem at least, seemed to have been resolved.

"I'll go wake Neal if you want to have the first shower, hon," El threw over her shoulder as she pulled on her dressing gown and headed for the door.

"Sounds like a plan." Peter slapped his wife's backside softly as she walked by.

"Hey!" El protested in mock annoyance.

"That was for slapping me just a moment ago," Peter grinned.

"In that case, fair enough," El winked on her way out.

The agent had begun to undress when Elizabeth suddenly re-appeared in the bedroom doorway. "Peter, there's no sign of Neal!"

Peter was surprised. So far, Neal had not ventured downstairs or upstairs for that matter without the accompaniment of either Burke. But he kept his concerns to himself as he stated calmly as he redressed himself, "It's okay El, I'm sure he just wandered down to check on Satch or get himself a drink." Both highly unlikely scenarios – the most likely case was sure to have some connection to the appointment. El trailed Peter out of the room and together they checked the house. Unfortunately, no Neal!

"Peter, what are we going to do? He's still so fragile; I can't imagine what it would be like out there for him all by himself. There's no way he's going to cope!"

The agent sat down on the arm of the couch and thought for a moment, speculating on his young partner's actions. After a minute or two of blocking out El's vocalized concerns, he stood looking more irritated than worried. "It's fine El."

"It is?"

"Yes believe me, Neal hasn't gone anywhere. I don't know why I even thought it possible for a second. Hell, I can't even use the bathroom most of the time without him hanging about on the other side of the door. Do you think for a second, he's suddenly fearless enough to brave the outside world on his own?"

"Highly unlikely."

"I'd go one step further and say, impossible. No, the kid hasn't left the house." Peter gazed around the living room.

"You don't think he'd hide down in the basement do you?"

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I know where to find him." Peter headed up the stairs, taking two at a time. El had to jog to catch up. The agent entered the master bedroom and stood beside his bed with El right behind, bringing up the flank.

"Neal," Peter spoke with zero tolerance, "I'm going to count to three and if you're not getting dressed by the time I finish counting, I am going to dust off my old leather slipper on your backside…One…" Peter winked at his wife with great satisfaction as he heard rustling coming from under his bed… "Two..." Neal suddenly appeared from beneath the bed frame and sprung to his feet. "Three…" Peter swiped at the young man's butt as he bolted towards the door. "Breakfast is in fifteen minutes Neal; don't take forever to decide what you're wearing to your appointment."

El ran tired hands down her face, something she'd seen her husband doing many times before, and sat down on the bed for a breather.

"Round one to team Burke," Peter announced proudly as he headed for his shower.

"Let's hope it's not our only win for the day," the young woman expressed as she collapsed back onto the bed.

###

Neal ate his breakfast, all of it, for the first time since the ordeal began, without any prompting, encouraging words, begging or threats. Of course it may have helped that the old wooden ruler remained ominously in the middle of the table like some obscure centrepiece. Peter was even able to enjoy eating his own bowl of oatmeal and honey without the constant pressure of seeing to every mouthful taken by his young partner. He actually felt quite positive about everything as he swallowed his last piece of croissant. "Okay bud, you've done really well eating your breakfast this morning. How about after your appointment I take you to one of those galleries that you don't normally get to go to, maybe as a reward for good behaviour?"

Neal signed some words and Peter had to call El back from the kitchen where she was getting herself another coffee. "Say again, bud."

Neal made the same movements and Peter looked at El who spoke reluctantly. "He said that nothing has changed. He is not going to the appointment and you can't make him."

And with that one statement, Peter's positive feelings went flying out the window. He rested his head on his hand and took a couple of deep breaths. "Neal, Dr Bryant needs to have a look to see if the work he did on your shoulder has healed successfully. It was badly infected and it's important to make sure that's all cleared up. He has to remove those band-aids from your arm." That part of the exam was going to smart like crazy when the tape got pulled off the skin and hairs but there was no need to bring it up now – plenty of time for that during the hysterics at the hospital. "I really don't think anything is going to be a problem, except for your weight. Now we talked about this last week, which is why we were so desperate to get you to eat properly. Irrespective of your weight loss, we have to go. There's no choice in the matter."

The young man crossed his arms and pouted. He would have snapped his fingers to make the 'no' gesture but that was forbidden at the table, particularly with the ruler remaining within arm's reach of the agent.

Peter sighed knowing full well he was about to have to deal with a full-blown teenage defiance spectacle. Hopping up, he took his plate to the kitchen as he called back, "We're leaving in fifteen minutes, Neal. Go and get your jacket."

Peter put his dishes away, made a bathroom stop upstairs, collected his badge, wallet keys and jacket and still, the boy hadn't moved. He remained at the table with his arms crossed, same pout, same attitude – 'I'm not going'. El gave her husband a sympathetic smile, unable to offer anything more. What was there to do? Peter shook his head, walked to the table, wrapped his hand under Neal's armpit and pulled him out of his chair. El passed over Neal's jacket which Peter took as he hauled the kid towards the door and down the stairs. Luckily he had found a parking space right outside because his young charge was resisting all the way. As they reached the car, Peter took out his keys, pressing the button to unlock and yanked open the passenger door. Yep, his positive outlook had well and truly dissipated. "Get in!"

Neal snapped his two fingers together with his thumb.

The colour of Peter's face grew a shade deeper with every passing second. He grabbed a firmer hold on the kid and all but shoved him into the car. Then he carefully shut the door, imagining in his head how good it would have felt to actually slam the damn thing! He took several deep breaths, feeling a lot like he'd been involved in some high school senior wrestling competition, and walked around to the driver's side, trying desperately to calm his nerves which had sky rocketed in the last several minutes.

The exasperated agent pulled on the door handle to get in, 'Hey!'…He pulled on it again, 'What the!'…It was locked! The major 'thorn in his side' had locked it! Well, little good that was going to do. Peter reached in to his jacket to retrieve his keys but…_CRAP!_ He looked in through the window and could see the keys sitting rather obnoxiously, if an inanimate object could be seen as obnoxious, on the driver's seat. "Neal!"

The young con raised his hands and moved his fingers. Peter had some idea what the kid was saying – I'm not going?

"Neal! Open this car door right now!"

Neal signed some more, different formations this time. Peter had no idea what the boy was saying this time, and honestly, he didn't care.

"You open this car door right now or else!"

Neal lifted his hand and stuck up the middle finger. No translation needed for that one.

Every muscle in the agent's arms and hands tightened as he balled his fingers into fists desperate to bang on the car window. Instead, he drew on whatever common sense he could muster and stormed back to the house, possibly to break open a bottle of Valium if he could only put his hands on some!

Neal watched the agent stomp back to the house with the utmost satisfaction. So far his con had gone according to plan. He knew Agent Burke would man-handle him into the car if he resisted, making his keys an easy target. He also knew that the agent would go back to get the spare set of keys so while the old man had been in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes, Neal had squirreled away the spare set, certain they wouldn't be found until well after his appointment time passed. With a bit of good luck, Dr Bryant would have a heavy schedule and be unable to squeeze him in. That was the plan, and so far so good. Besides, no way anyone was going to make him go along to be prodded and poked by a so called doctor.

Tap,tap…Tap, tap.

Neal startled at the knocking on the car window. Agent Burke stood looking rather smug, way too smug for someone on the back foot. Neal began to get that sinking feeling and rightfully so. He looked up and cringed as he watched the older man lift the spare keys up to the window. _Damn!_ Neal slunk down in his seat wondering how the hell the agent had found the keys so easily.

Tap…Tap, Tap…Tap.

Neal looked up again in time to see Peter raise his other hand. Neal wished he hadn't. As Peter lifted his other hand, an old leather slipper came into view. Neal gulped and winced but didn't have time for anything else as he heard the car doors click to unlock. He literally had nowhere to go as Agent Burke's large hand snaked into the car to extract him from the vehicle.

"Guess where I found these Neal?" Peter held up the spare keys.

The young con shrugged.

"I found them in the pot plant."

Neal signed some words that Peter didn't understand.

"Now, I don't know if you're asking, 'What were the keys doing in the pot plant,' or 'How did I find them so quickly,' but since we both know the answer to the first question and only I know the answer to the second, let me explain to you that the Taurus keys have a microchip inside the casing and if you ring a pre-assigned number, it's sets off an alarm on the key set. It's a great invention, particularly for anyone who's always misplacing their keys."

Neal tried to look impressed but he was more concerned with the leather slipper dangling in Agent Burkes right hand than the 'magic' key tale.

"Anyway, we don't want to be running late now do we so let's take care of a few things first." Peter spun the boy so he was facing the car then he bent him forward 'til Neal's hands came to rest on the passenger seat. The young man looked back over his shoulder with grave concern.

"Oh, don't worry, this won't take long." Peter pulled back his hand and delivered a resounding whack across the top of Neal's thighs. The younger man shut his eyes, hoping no one would see. Not that they would have been able to. Peter had the passenger door open and he blocked the view from the opposite direction with his own body. The agent took advantage of the deserted street and began to deliver a volley of swats, all to the kid's upper thighs and sit-spot. Neal flinched each time the slipper hit his pants desperate to swing his hand back to halt the onslaught, but that would only prolong the inevitable and he was desperate for this to be over. Thankfully, less than thirty seconds later, Peter placed the slipper down onto the floor of the car, pulled Neal back up and spun him round.

The kid had a string of tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and tried to drop his head enough so it would go unnoticed but Peter lifted his chin. "We are going to your appointment. Skipping it is not an option so you'd better get that out of your bonehead right now. And let me be very clear, Neal, any shenanigans at the hospital and I won't hesitate to borrow an empty examination room and demonstrate to you just how little tolerance I have left." Peter pointed to the passenger seat. "Now, get in and behave yourself."

Neal eased himself in without objection, wincing as the back of his legs made contact with the seat. At this stage he honestly hoped it wasn't going to take too long to get to the appointment, the journey to the hospital was bound to be a rather uncomfortable one!


	11. Chapter 11

"Hey Pete, how you doing?" Dr Bryant gave his friend a brotherly slap on the back on the way in through to the examination room.

"Not too bad. And yourself?"

"Oh you know how it is, I could start in on how my week's really been but then we'd have to deal with both you and I being depressed as well. Where is your boy by the way?" Andy looked behind Peter but there was no sign of the younger man.

Peter turned back also, Neal had been behind him seconds before. With barely controlled anger, the agent stormed back out through the waiting room and into the corridor. _Crap!_ The hall was empty save for an elderly couple, one with a walking frame. Peter marched back into the waiting area shaking his head. "I'm sorry Andy…"

"You know Pete," The young doctor grinned as he pointed, "if I didn't know better I'd say that was your boy standing over facing the water cooler taking an exceptionally long time to fill a cup."

Arrrrggh! Peter flew over to his young charge and grabbed him securely by his upper arm, spilling the water every which way. "Neal!"

The kid simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Peter pursed his lips, well aware that a number of patients were watching the scene unfold as he dragged the kid back to the examination room, shoving him past Andy and through the door.

The young doctor smirked to himself - he loved this pair and their clueless assessment of their relationship towards each other. "Good morning Neal." As expected, the young man simply crossed his arms and dropped his gaze – the typically Caffrey response at the onset of any medical examination. "Okay, let's get this over with real quick. Neal, I need you to take off your jacket and shirt and hop up on the examination table please."

Neal made no move so Peter stepped in to assist. He guided the younger man over to the table, "Up you get kiddo," and yanked on his arm until Neal had no choice but to climb up, least his arm be removed from its socket! Neal winced as the back of his legs settled onto the table's surface and managed to sneak an accusatory glare at the older man in the process. Peter ignored it with great satisfaction and instead helped the kid remove his upper layers.

Andy stepped towards the table, removing his stethoscope from around his collar, and positioning it at the front of his neck. "Good job Neal. I won't take long, I just need you to lay back so I can have a quick look at what's happening with your shoulder and check out your heart rate and blood pressure and a few other bits and pieces, nothing to worry about, considering all stuff we've done before."

Neal shook his head slightly as the fear of what was about to happen became a reality. Both Peter and Andy couldn't help but notice the tears beginning to pool in the corner of the young man's eyes. "Okay buddy, you lay back down, I'm going to be right here, there's nothing to worry about." Peter put pressure on his young partner's chest, encouraging him to lay back while at the same time, Neal reached out and grabbed the agent's hand with both of his like it was a life line. As soon as he was in position Andy took his readings and removed the bandages. Ordinarily, he'd have a nurse do it to save time but with Neal, involving other people just brought more anxiety to an already stressful situation.

While Andy was busily pulling off bandages and examining wounds, Peter spoke softly to his young charge, asking him if he wanted to go anywhere special after lunch.

Neal didn't hear much, he was working hard at ignoring what was happening to his body and it was difficult to do that and concentrate on what Agent Burke was saying. After a little while, he stopped thinking about the prodding and poking Dr Bryant was doing to him and began to focus on Agent Burke's silver chain. He couldn't see much of it as it was tucked under the agent's collar but he recalled being captivated by its shinning brilliance and the decorative stones last time he'd been in a similar position. He wanted to reach up and pull it out from where it was concealed but he couldn't risk letting go of the older man's hand. If he could talk, he would ask the agent about the medallion but that was also something that was currently out of his hands with his fingers already occupied.

"Okay Neal, you can sit up and put your shirt back on." Andy patted the young man on his leg, signalling that this part of the examination was finished with.

Peter helped to steady his partner as he returned to a sitting position. Neal, for his part, couldn't take his eyes off the pink stripes and remnants of scars all along his forearm. They'd been covered since his rescue so he was seeing the damage for the first time. Fortunately, the scars looked a hell of a lot less nasty than the last time Peter had laid eyes on them. Neal ran his fingers thoughtfully along each pink line, possibly remembering how they may have come to be about. Who knew what the kid was thinking?

"Neal." Dr Bryant's voice brought the young man out of his trance. "Neal, I've got your blood results back from your tests last week and thankfully most of them show no problems whatsoever. However," Andy moved on quickly before either Peter or Neal got a false sense of security, "there are still two causes for concern. One of the blood results came back showing an aggressive type of bacteria that has made its way into the infection in your shoulder, fortunately the good news is we can clear that up with a course of antibiotics and…and a boost of medicine." Andy continued quickly before an explanation was required. "Plus, I am also extremely concerned about your weight loss-"

"Ah, we may have finally worked out a solution to that," Peter raised his eyebrows at Neal, expecting him to support his statement, "haven't we buddy?" The young man's expression of support came by way of crossed arms and a serious pout. "Well, we have and I'm sure it's going to work but it's only been in place since yesterday, so can we hold off on the lecture about the necessity of eating more for say, another week. I'm sure you'll notice a difference then." Peter looked hopeful, like he needed to be cut some slack himself.

"Yeah of course." Andy was more than happy not to have his nervous wreck of a patient tied down for an intravenous drip. It was a win-win for all of them if the eating arrangement was successful. "You two work on your plan and I'll check Neal out next week to see if he's made progress. Now, if he hasn't," and Andy hoped like crazy it wouldn't come to this, "I'm going to have to put you back in hospital Neal. Do you understand?"

Neal held up his fist and shook it slightly.

"Good. Okay…" Andy looked at Peter giving him the signal. It was time for the 'boost of medicine.'

Peter moved in, blocking the view to Andy who was preparing the injection. "Hey buddy, I just need you to lie back and roll onto your stomach. This won't take long." The agent was hoping to delay the protest as long as possible. Not surprisingly, the delay didn't make it far at all.

Neal looked around the older man, suspicious of the covert activity in the room and immediately snapped his fingers together with his thumb. _NO!_

Peter sighed, here we go! "Yes Neal. I need you to lie on the bed and roll over. I'll hold onto your hand and before you know it, we'll be heading home."

_NO! NO! NO!_ Neal began to push himself off the examination table but the agent held him in place.

"No Neal, not going to happen so you'd better calm down." Peter tried to remain calm himself but he'd almost need to be a saint to keep his composure in these situations and sadly he was merely a federal agent.

"Neal," Dr Bryant stepped closer but held the needle by his side, "I need to give you this shot to help counter the bacterial infection. Without it, your body is going to take a lot longer to heal."

Neal remained steadfast in his resolve and snapped his fingers together once more. _NO!_ Then, surprising even Peter, he kicked the older man painfully in the shins, sprung off the table, and leapt towards freedom. Peter cringed and swore under his breath before reaching out a well-trained arm, grabbing a fist full of shirt and hauling the boy back to the table. Ignoring the searing pain across his lower leg, he resisted every urge in his body that wanted to start walloping the boy across his backside as he pushed him face down over the table. The agent pressed Neal's back firmly as he leaned down close to whisper in his ear, "Neal, Dr Bryant can give you the shot or I can but either way, you have to have the shot." The young con struggled but there was no energy behind the effort.

Peter reasoned if they continued down this path much longer they'd be no chance of any co-operation whatsoever. He softened his voice upon feeling the trembles taking control of his young charge. "Listen kiddo, I need you to do this so you can get better. We've done it before. You can hold my hand as tight as you need to, I'll be right beside you and after I'll buy you a cream bun with pink icing and sprinkles from the bakery on the way home."

Despite his tenuous position of having his face pressed into the soft padding of the examination table, the suggestion brought a slight smile to the younger man's features. Neal didn't eat much in the way of junk food, we'll as it stood at the moment, he didn't eat much in the way of anything, but he did so love those delicious cream buns that could only be found at a little bakery on the outskirts of Queens. They'd had a case a while back at the Pizza Plaza next door to the bakery and Neal had grabbed some pastries on the way back to the office. Now every time they were in the vicinity for work, the young man insisted on being allowed to run inside to purchase a bun. Neal said it was the mock cream than made it special. He said all the other bakeries used an inferior product compared to this particular recipe. The young con told Peter that if he still had ownership of his Manhattan Bakery, cream buns with pink icing and sprinkles would be their best seller.

Neal stopped thinking about cream buns and mock cream and returned all thoughts to his current predicament as he realised Peter had released his arms and was in the middle of sliding off his pants.

_No._ While still bent over the table, Neal lifted his fingers and signed more words but Peter didn't understand. He took the boy's hands and held them tightly within his own, hoping to steady the shaking that had all but taken over the younger man.

"Shusssssh. It's okay kiddo, it'll all be over in a second. I just need you to stay very still for me. You're doing great and we're almost done."

Neal didn't respond. He'd shut down, blocking out everything to do with what was happening. It was his own unique coping mechanism, the only way he managed to handle the anxiety that overcame him during this type of experience.

"Okay Neal, all over." Andy applied a band-aid and pulled up his patient's pants.

Peter freed one of his hands and ran it through Neal's hair. "You did so well, Kiddo. Guess we'll have to stop and get one of those cream buns on the way home."

Neal lifted his head and signed some words in response.

Peter rolled his eyes, prompting Andy to ask, "What did he say?"

"Mmm," the agent considered confessing to his friend that once again Neal had signed, 'I'm not hungry', but reminded himself that ignorance was bliss. "Best we keep that our little secret," Peter replied dryly.

Andy chuckled and moved onto packing away his gear. Neal, being so completely drained after receiving his shot, climbed up onto the table and collapsed with emotional exhaustion, quite content to allow the sensation of relief wash over him.

Peter continued to run a caring hand over his young charge's back and during the time it took Andy to clear away the equipment, he heard Neal's breathing slow and realised he'd dozed off.

"Hey Pete," Andy whispered, noticing also that his young patient had all but knocked himself out, "why don't you walk me down to the tea room while I grab a cuppa?"

"Uh, what about Neal?"

Andy smirked at the prone form lying face down on the table, "I didn't think he'd care too much for a drink but we can bring him back one if you like," the doctor winked at Peter to let him know that he was kidding around, "Plus I'll ask one of the nurses to come in and keep an eye on him."

"I guess that's okay." Peter sounded anything but sure of himself.

After Dr Bryant arranged for the nurse to 'supervise', the pair headed down a busy corridor, finally retreating to the peace and quiet of the staff room. Thankfully the room was empty. Andy got them both a coffee and secured a corner table before asking, "Hey Pete, how you doing?" The doctor's exact words from earlier were repeated.

"Not too- "

"Oh please don't give me that crap from earlier mate. I've known you for way too long not to notice the insecurity flowing in waves off your anatomy. So let me ask, third time lucky, how you doing Pete?"

The agent slumped in his seat and sighed deeply, seeing little point in continuing the façade for his lifelong friend. "I'm…confused, I guess. Before all this happened I knew exactly how to handle Neal."

"And now…"

"And now, I feel like I'm grasping in the dark. Neal's been sleeping on the floor in my room and I hadn't realised he was frightened to be in a dark room until last night. I should have worked that out – it was amateur hour on my part. I can't get him to talk, I've only just worked out a way to get him to eat, and he still thinks he's just a kid-"

"And that's different from the way it's always been how…?"

"Fair point," Peter conceded. "But Andy, he's a far cry from the wayward CI that flaunts the rules and drives me crazy with his boneheaded stunts and law defying antics. He's…he's so fragile and needy and I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm thinking he'd be better off if someone more skilled in this department took over his care."

"Not true," the doctor wasn't having a bar of that nonsense. "That boy back there, he wouldn't be able to get through this, not even for a second, without you. He's been through more than most of us can begin to imagine. No one is ever going to be better for him than you and El. And what's more, you know that already." Andy softened his voice. "Pete, you know that Neal's been through one hell of a traumatic experience, what you don't know or more to the point, can't accept, is that you have as well. You're suffering post-traumatic stress. You almost lost your kid and you went through that anxiety for over a month. Don't think for a moment that you've come out the other end unscathed. It's going to take you time to heal as well."

"Doesn't that reinforce my argument for relinquishing care to a professional who can handle this better?"

"No, it does not and after we're finished here I'm going to call El and tell her she needs to send you to your room when you get home for even saying those words out loud." Andy grinned cheekily at his friend and got a genuine laugh back in return.

"No need, I already got slapped over the wrist. El and I have had a similar conversation and she seems to concur with you."

"Making your statement all the more ludicrous." Andy nodded to reinforce his point. "But seriously mate, don't expect to be working on full thrusters for a little while yet. It's probably the cause of why you didn't pick up about the light and don't be surprised if there's more. It's to be expected after what you've been through. But despite that, for Neal's sake you need to suck it up and carry on regardless. He is also hurting, sensitive, vulnerable and needy, things that…" Andy pointed a stern finger at his friend, "Peter Burke is uniquely qualified to help him with. This job's yours by default through whatever quirky little act of fate brought that kid into your life. Sure, there are going to be complications but you need to stay focused on the progress and the positives."

Peter shrugged, not quite convinced.

"You say you've worked out an eating plan?"

"It's…dubious at best."

"But he's actually eating now?"

"Two whole meals in a row," Peter sounded more sarcastic than impressed.

"Two's better than none – see that's progress. And look how you got him here today, I had my doubts."

"It wasn't without a hurdle or two."

"And yet you succeeded. Another point on the scoreboard of success. Plus I'm even going to give you a bonus point for getting the kid to have his shot without me being kicked in the groin. How's the shin by the way?"

"Not too bad, thanks for asking." Peter polished off the last of his coffee and headed to the dispenser for a second. "You know, Neal _is_ beginning to show signs of coming out his cocoon, a bit of the old self-assurance is beginning to creep through. I guess I should probably see how the next few days pan out before throwing in the towel."

"Good plan and you never know, he may actually begin to talk again."

"Yeah, we can only hope. It's driving me round the twist all the finger waving and hand signals." Peter made a couple of the gestures at Andy before becoming suddenly serious. "So what do you think Doc? Why isn't he talking?"

"I can't answer that mate." Andy shook his head as he thought. "A likely scenario is that something happened to him when he was a teenager, something to do with dark rooms or being trapped or being by himself for a long period of time when he had no one to talk to and it was such a horrific experience that he'd successfully blocked it from his consciousness. And this," the doctor nodded his head back in the direction of the examination rooms, "what happened has brought it all to the surface again."

"If that's the case, how do we get him back again?"

"Well, Neal has to come to the party. He has to find enough security and belief within himself that everything can be okay again and he needs to accept that if he drops the psychological wall he's built around his mind to protect himself, the world's not going to come crashing down around his feet."

"And in the meantime?"

"And in the meantime, you carry on like you always do, whatever it is you do to keep that young whippersnapper of yours in line." Andy had an inkling that Peter used a 'firm hand' but he never asked and he was never told. As far as he was concerned, whatever Peter did worked and it worked well. "Don't let him get away with stuff you'd normally pull him up for. Don't be hesitant just because he has scars on his arms."

The agent nodded contemplating the words of wisdom. "Thank you Dr Phil. I shall do my level best to take your advice on board." Peter rose from his seat, keen to get back to his young charge before he awoke but Andy signalled him to hold up a moment.

"Listen Pete, there's one other thing."

Peter sat back down. "Yeah?"

"The wound in Neal's shoulder. The blood results confirmed the laceration was from the tinned spaghetti cans."

"That's no surprise. We expected that to be the case." The agent had a sudden thought. "Please tell me he didn't stab himself with a rusty tin can?" It was difficult enough accepting Neal had inflicted the wounds along his arms.

"No. The gash on his shoulder was not self-inflicted. Somehow he's landed on one of the cans with considerable force – either by running into it or dropping onto it from quite a height. The bruising surrounding the area would indicate the later."

"How's that possible?"

Andy shrugged. "I don't know but that part's your area of expertise, not mine. Anyway," the young doctor hesitated, "the wound in his shoulder…it's not his first."

"Huh, you mean he's cut that area," Peter pointed to a spot on his own shoulder, "before."

"No, but he's been… 'shot' there before." Andy paused a moment for that bombshell to sink in before continuing. "There's evidence of a past gun-shot wound, close range that healed without the assistance of professional medical treatment."

"Hey? What? Neal has an old shot gun wound," Peter asked in utter disbelief.

"Yep, and I'd take an educated guess based on the old scaring and say it was about fifteen years ago."

"Which would put him at the same age-"

"He thinks he is now." Andy finished Peter's thoughts.

Peter ran his hands through his hair, concern contorting his features. "What the hell happened to Neal when he was sixteen?"

"I don't know but I'm guessing, 'hells' not too far off the mark."

###

Author's Note: Warning Warning! The next chapter is rather GRAPIC and rather SHORT. I know some readers will be bothered by the former, and everyone else will be bothered by the later! So, in other words, you're all going to be displeased. LOL! But seeing that you are all the wonderfully supportive bunch that you are, I thought I would give you the heads up – and also let you know that I went down the road and bought myself one of those DELICIOUS cream buns with pink icing and sprinkles to devour while I was posting this…and oh! Wow! I just can't understand why Neal would want one! BTW, the next chapter after the next chapter is much longer. Cheers CK


	12. Chapter 12

That night, Peter tossed and turned in bed, visions of dark places, self-inflicted cuts and horror scenarios swirling in his head as he tried to fathom plausible explanations as to what may have happened to his partner as a youngster. Honestly, he had very little knowledge of Neal's background, other than a couple of snippets the CI had reluctantly revealed over the period he'd known him. Being a con, it was inevitable Neal would've had dealings with less than desirable characters and Peter also suspected the kid had sustained a bruise or two from scaling down Palace walls and the likes, but at some point in the past, Neal had been shot. Peter was having a difficult time coming to grips with what Andy had divulged. As the young con's handler, or more to the point, as his friend, Peter felt like he should have known.

Peter pulled up the blanket and rolled over once more…well, he tried to but he found his legs restricted. Forcing himself to wake up properly, he propped himself up on his elbow and squeezed his eyes open to check out the obstruction. "Neal?" The agent croaked out the young man's name upon focusing his fuzzy vision on the still form perched at the end of his bed. "Neal?" His voice sounded slightly more normal this time around. "You okay buddy?" He sat himself up properly, checking that he hadn't disturbed El in the process. Fortunately, she was a far deeper sleeper that he was.

Neal looked up and twisted his head so he was staring at Peter. Because of the sunlight breaking through the cracks in the blinds, the agent could make out the fountain of tears streaming from the younger man's red swollen eyes.

"Hey!" Peter pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, moving over to his distressed partner. "Hey, it's okay buddy." He spoke in soft comforting tones, hoping to calm his friend and quell the tide of tears. Peter stood over the young man and placed a caring hand on his head. "What happened?"

Neal lifted his chin, stared into the older man's eyes and whispered, "It's all my fault."

Peter's jaw dropped open. Neal had spoken! Pity it was under such distressing circumstances or he would have been ecstatic. As it was, "Your fault? What do you mean, buddy? What's your-" Peter froze, and then yelled, "Neal!" He grabbed a hold of the younger man and hauled him off the bed as he suddenly realised Neal's sleep shirt was soaked in blood. The agent frantically began a body search; looking for somewhere the young man may be injured, almost passing out from shock when he found the source of the blood loss. He lifted Neal's hands and turned them over hesitantly only to discover that his worst case scenario had come to life. His young charge had two great gashes across each wrist and blood was pouring out like a busted water pipe, pooling at their feet. He reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the catastrophe playing out before him and looked into the desolate eyes of his dear boy. Why? He wanted to ask, to scream but he suddenly found he was unable to speak. _How ironic,_ he considered momentarily.

However, it was as though Neal could read his thoughts and answered anyway. "It's all my fault Agent Burke. I killed-" The young CI didn't complete his confession as Peter felt the last of his life blood drain from his body before his partner collapsed in a pool of blood on the floor.

"NOOOO! NEAL!" This time Peter screamed out with all his might and he sat up in bed, not in a pool of blood, but rather, a pool of sweat.

"Peter, hon, it's okay…" El had her arms wrapped around her husband and was patting him reassuringly. "It's okay honey. You've had a bad dream."

Slowly, the agent began to get his head around the fact that it had indeed been a dream, or rather, a nightmare. He put his head in his hands wanting desperately to cry with relief but he couldn't afford that luxury. He had something he needed to do first. He pulled back the covers…

"Honey? Where you going?"

…and climbed out of bed. "I need to check on Neal." The agent made quick work of the short trip to the young man's room and all but collapsed with relief to see him laying sound asleep under the covers, night light, room light and hallway light all illuminating the room in great brightness. Peter walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the younger man. He rested his hand over the kid's blanket-covered chest and sighed, "When are you going to tell me, Neal? Any time you want to start talking I'm ready to listen and ready to help you."


	13. Chapter 13

Peter lay in bed unable to sleep, understandably shaken up by his all-too-realistic nightmare. When the wake-up alarm eventually went off, he merely rolled over and switched off the machine, quite certain he wouldn't be falling back to sleep anytime soon. Not long after, he heard sounds coming from down the hall, followed by the shower running. Peter rubbed tired hands across his face while conceding that he needed to have a conversation with the boy. About what?…He didn't know exactly. He just knew he had to say something, anything to quell his concerns from the haunting images that affronted his mind through the night. Figuring there wasn't any point in lying on the bed a moment longer, he climbed out, wrapped himself in his robe and strolled down the hall.

He waited on the edge of Neal's bed for the young man to return from the bathroom, working through a possible script in his head of how he was going to approach the topic. Unfortunately when Neal eventually walked in, Peter still hadn't a clue as to what he was going to say so he began with, "Hey kiddo."

Neal stopped in the doorway, slightly taken back by his early morning visitor, then tucked his pyjamas under his arm while signing what Peter suspected was something along the lines of, 'Good morning Agent Burke.'

And that's where the conversation ended. Neal stood in the doorway staring, Peter sat on the bed, fiddling with the design on the blanket. Nothing else was said for what seemed like an eternity, but in actual fact, was more like five minutes. Peter wondered how long Neal would just stand there without making a move. If anything positive were to come out of the young man's confinement in the basement from hell, perhaps it would be that he had learnt patience. When Neal finally returned to work, sitting in the van for eight hours would hopefully be a mere walk in the park. Of course, he may have issues with being confined to such a small space so it was highly likely the kid was never going to do a surveillance shift again.

Peter sighed deeply and patted a spot on the bed beside him, indicating for Neal to take a seat.

The young man walked over, placed his folded pyjamas back in the correct drawer and joined Peter on the bed.

"You have a nice shower?" Peter began in that round-about, awkward kind of way that was the agent's style of choice when it came to more sensitive topics.

Neal lifted his fist and shook. _Yes._

"Good." Peter looked around the room, possibly hoping for a clue as to how to proceed. "You feel like anything special for breakfast?"

Neal tapped his fingers on his lap, looking like he was actually considering making a suggestion, but then turned back and signed 'no' anyway.

"Okay, so long as you eat, it doesn't really matter." Peter swallowed his disappointment – there were bigger fish to fry. "Neal," He shifted his weight on the bed so he was facing the boy, "when you were younger…you had another injury, in your shoulder….Do you think you could tell me how that happened?"

Neal dropped his gaze and studied the floor. When he didn't respond after what felt like a reasonable time, Peter reached out and lifted the boy's chin, "Hey Buddy, can you look at me for a minute?"

Neal complied with turning his head and locking eyes with the older man.

Peter tried again in a soft, sincere tone, "You can tell me buddy. I'll listen…and I can…I can help you get better….What happened to you when you were sixteen?"

Neal continued to stare into the agent's eyes but after a moment, Peter could tell even though their eyes were meeting, the boy's mind was in a different place, a different time.

"Neal…What happened? How did you get hurt?"

The younger man offered no response, and if anything, his presence seemed to drift further away - even though they were sitting side by side. Peter noticed a single tear appear in the corner of Neal's eye and decided enough was enough. He pulled the boy into his chest and held him tight. Neal sunk his head into the agent's shoulder and with shaky hands, took a hold of Peter's left arm and held tight. Peter used his free hand to rub reassuring circles on the boy's back. "Don't worry kiddo, everything's going to be okay." Peter didn't pretend for a second to believe his own words, nor did he pretend that the haunting images that had affronted his mind through the night were merely the fruition of his imagination.

###

Peter sat at his dining room table staring off into space, continuing to be rattled by his concerns for his young partner. He'd felt uneasy and on edge all morning. His laptop had powered down to stand-by mode while the back-load of case files he had brought home to sort through, lay strewn across the table. During the past couple of hours, he had made several attempts to set his mind to the paper work at hand but at times it seemed to the clearly disturbed agent that every word on the screen read, 'It's not my fault,' and all evidence photos where splattered with blood. The object of his distress looked on without expression from his permanent location on the couch where he had remained motionless and silent for the length of time Peter had sat at the table. It was unnerving for Peter knowing the kid's continual staring in his direction never wavered. No one ever told Neal he had to sit on the couch but it was like a self-imposed cell without the bars. Whenever Peter was downstairs, Neal would sit on the couch, and that's where he stayed until he was called to the table to eat or until such time as Peter retreated upstairs, with his young charge in tow. By the time lunch rolled around, Peter's nerves where maxed out so much so that when El offered to pour him a lemonade soda, he opted for a beer instead.

Neal washed up for lunch and sat down; sighing at the adult sized portion of chicken salad El had placed before him. He'd eaten all his breakfast without any whining, and now he was expected to eat this ridiculous serving of salad. He sighed once more, noticing this time that Agent Burke's lunch also remained untouched. Perhaps there was hope after all, although, there was still the matter of that nasty wooden ruler perched at the top of his plate. He considered his options. Mrs Burke was munching away, reading a magazine at one end of the table. Agent Burke was guzzling down his beer at the other end, completely zoned out like he'd been all morning. Decision made. As covertly as possibly, he pushed up from the table, grabbed his plate, and as an afterthought, the menacing ruler and made tracks into the kitchen. He placed his food and the ruler down on the counter. He hadn't so much as had a single bite of his food so there was no need to throw it out. Someone would eat it later for sure. Reaching up to the pantry to get some plastic wrap for the plate, he was startled as a searing pain swept across his backside. He spun around only to find one very upset Mrs Burke, holding one very menacing wooden ruler in her folded arms, with one very unimpressed expression on her face.

"What do you think you're doing young man?"

Neal gave away the game with his 'deer caught in headlights' expression that was plastered across his guilty face but quickly recovered enough to sign an excuse.

"There's salt and pepper on the table. You're going to start lying to me now?"

Neal looked deservedly ashamed as his shook his head and signed, _I'm sorry. I didn't feel like eating._

"Sweetie," El softened her tone, reminding herself how difficult this was for all of them, "remember what Dr Bryant said. If you don't put on more weight before your next visit, he's going to have no choice but to put you back in hospital."

Neal nodded once more before signing, _Yes__, Mrs Burke__. I'm sorry. I'll eat my lunch_. He picked up his plate and headed towards the dining room.

"Don't forget this," Neal turned back and couldn't help rolling his eyes as Mrs Burke passed him the wooden ruler. Had he a free hand, he may have signed, _damn_, but he didn't so instead he thought something far more explicit in his head.

###

After they had all finished eating - Peter had eventually made a start on his lunch after receiving a stern glare from his wife, El suggested the two boys head out the back to do some much needed repairs to the porch. She'd been asking Peter for quite some time and considered this a perfect opportunity to get him away from his computer and all the worries associated with said device. Also, it would be good for Neal. The kid needed to get out more and any outdoor activity was a good excuse to expose him to some fresh air and exercise. The guys had reluctantly headed out back with a lot of encouragement and a threat or two from El - she'd even sent Satchmo out to keep them company, leaving her in the rare, luxurious position of having the house to herself. She poured a cold drink, reclined in the armchair, flipped open the latest edition of Woman's Weekly and read at least one sentence before…

"NEAL! What the hell do you think you're doing! Get your butt in the house RIGHT NOW!"

El sighed deeply, closed up her magazine, put down her drink, pushed herself out her ever-so-comfy chair and rose to her feet just in time to see the back door push open and a rather sheepish looking 'teenager' walk through into the living area.

"What did you do Neal?"

The young man shrugged and may have been about to sign something but Peter came bounding in, his angry red face and excessive frown giving credibility to the fact that Neal had indeed, in an incredibly short time frame, pushed the agent clearly over the edge.

Peter raised his eyes to the ceiling, sighed deeply and then before even uttering a single word, took off downstairs to the basement, presumably to the bathroom to run cold water over his hot and irritated face - El hoped. After her husband had departed, she once again asked, "Sweetie, what did you do?"

The young con offered no explanation, but did take another step in the opposite direction to the basement door, pushing himself further against the back wall of the living room, crossing his arms and dropping his gaze.

"Fine, Peter will be up in a minute and you can tell him," El casually stated as she dropped back into her chair. She was tired too. Full time parenting was hard work!

Less than five minutes later, a much calmer, certainly less enraged agent appeared in the dining room, standing with his hands on his hips shaking his head more in exasperation at his young charge who remained standing unresponsively against the wall. El gave her husband a sympathetic smile from her seat, still none the wiser as to what had transpired out back.

"Neal, get over here," Peter called out firmly as he pulled a chair away from the end of the table.

The young man's features tensed and his face paled but he made no such move.

"NOW!"

The mere tone of that command got him moving. Grudgingly, he stepped over, looked regretfully at the older man then bent himself over the table, placing his arms and head onto the cold wooden surface.

Peter, slightly shocked but more frustrated by his partner's misunderstanding of what had been implied, ran his hands through his hair and rolled his eyes before hoisting the kid's arms off the table and planting him into the chair he'd originally pulled out for him to sit in.

Neal looked firstly startled then immensely relieved. He thought for sure Agent Burke had meant to tan his hide.

Peter pulled out the adjacent seat and sat down beside him, wondering if he shouldn't have walloped the kid a few times – for good measure – while he was bent over the table, after all he'd earned it, and then some, with his little stunt outside. Instead, he grabbed the kid's wrist, pulling up his arm and examined the newly formed cuts gracing Neal's forearm. "El, would you mind getting us the Neosporin and a couple of band-aids."

Of course, that set Elizabeth's alarm bells blaring. She dashed over to inspect her boy rather than head upstairs to collect the requested medi-kit. "What happened, Peter?"

"I'm not sure myself yet." Peter glared at his young charge as he spoke. "I got out some nails to repair those loose boards at the end of the porch and was about to start hammering when I looked around. You can imagine my shock when I saw this kid," Peter stabbed a finger into Neal's forehead, "using one of the nails to dig scratches in his arm."

El examined the forearm. The cuts weren't deep, but there were three of them and they ran parallel between the pre-existing scars already prominent along the arm. "Oh sweetie! Why?"

Neal tugged his arm away from the hold Peter had on him so he could sign.

"What did he say El?"

"Um…he said he doesn't know why and he's sorry he's caused trouble…again."

Peter placed his hand around the back of the boy's neck. "You're not trouble Neal. El and I, we care about you a lot and this…" he used his free hand to point to the newly forming wounds, "this scares us because we don't want anything else to happen to you. Perhaps you could tell me what you were thinking of when you did it?"

Neal looked thoughtful for a minute or two, like he truly wanted to give the older man something. After a long moment he began to sign. El translated, "I was sitting on the steps watching you work, Satchmo ran up to me and jumped up, licking my face, he knocked over the container with the nails. I started to pick them up and then…something made me think about scratches on my arm….I don't know why I did what I did."

Peter took it all in but was no closer to working out the living puzzle sitting before him. "It's okay buddy. If something like this happens again, I want you to talk to me or El about it, rather than doing this…" The agent pointed to the arm and Neal nodded in acknowledgment.

El took the kid's good arm and pulled him up off the chair, "Sweetie, how about I take you up to the bathroom and we get this cleaned up?"

Neal followed Mrs Burke, leaving Peter with his troubled thoughts. He wanted to begin investigating his partner's tormented past to get some answers but he'd already invested a massive amount of time in that over the years and come up empty. And now…. he feared he no longer had the luxury of time. After his nightmare in the early hours of the morning, he needed answers A.S.A.P. before the horrific visions became reality.

###

By the time dinner rocked around, nerves were well and truly frayed and emotions were walking a fine tightrope. At one point, El actually considered it may be a rather sensible solution to skip dinner and send everyone, including herself straight to bed. Peter had gone back out after the 'incident' to finish off working on the porch. Neal had remained on the couch all afternoon, flipping through channels but not actually watching anything at all. El had tried to read her magazine but it was one of those occasions where she read the same words over and over again without actually processing any meaning. All three had been put in a tailspin with Neal's regression and his encroachment into self-harm territory.

Peter had given Dr Turner a call who recommended watching over the young man a little more closely while at the same time reminding the agent that these set-backs were due to pop up, particularly after having his bandages removed and his scars becoming visible for the first time. Peter had also called Andy who had also reassured him that nothing too drastic had taken place, recommended he remain resolute if possible and to keep things in perspective, as well as suggesting he carry on, business as usual, if 'usual' was ever a term associated with his 'son'.

With the sight of his work computer sitting idly atop the sideboard, and well aware that more and more cases were backlogging every passing day; with the conversation of each doctor playing in his head; with the visual of Neal scratching the nail across his arm; and with reruns of this morning's nightmare repeating over and over, the mentally drained agent had all but reached the end of his tether as he sat down to eat. Throw everyone's favourite time of the day – dinner – into the mix and El reasoned later, she should have gone with her earlier instinct of avoiding this one meal altogether.

Not only was her husband in a negative space, Neal also was in a particularly gloomy mood. Confused by his actions earlier regarding the nail and his arm, he rode out the rest of the day steering clear of Agent Burke, and for good measure, Mrs Burke who had clearly demonstrated her willingness and skill with the ruler. And now, having already eaten two complete meals, he found himself with a third placed in front of him on the dinner table. It was time to put his foot down before the oldies began to insist on even more – like all the 'in between' meals.

Taking his plate and gently sliding it into the middle of the table, he made his intentions clear without breaking the agent's list of no no's. Peter, who'd only been playing with his veggies himself, not actually eating, slammed down his fork and sighed, "Not tonight, Neal. Please just eat your food and then we can all go to bed, happy that this day is over."

The young man slumped in his seat, not wanting to sign that he wasn't hungry…but really, he wasn't. He was actually feeling that he may very well throw up if he had to have even one mouthful of Mrs Burke's creamy mashed potatoes. Perhaps they'd let him hold his meal over until morning.

"Neal," El tried her best to be the voice of reason even though to Peter's credit, he's response thus far hadn't been unreasonable. Of course, El wasn't sure how long that would last. "Sweetie, please eat your dinner then after I'll watch a movie with you or verse you in a game of chess, or-"

"He can go straight to bed if he doesn't start eating right now!"

Neal's pout got larger with that statement as he dug his heels in and made a stand, obviously not a very smart stand but a stand nonetheless. He pushed the plate further into the middle.

"Neal! Finally warning, eat your food and stop this nonsense immediately, and," Peter added as an afterthought, "don't even think about lifting those fingers to sign anything other than, 'boy this food tastes great El!'"

The young man considered slamming his own fork onto the table like he'd just seen Agent Burke do but he came up with an even better solution. Using his hand, he scooped the mashed potatoes off his plate and smeared them right across the table. Then, while Peter and El remained in shock from the outright act of defiance, Neal used his finger to write some words, upside down and right to left mind you, so they could be easily read by Agent Burke…. 'I'm Not Hungry!' was inscribed with perfect penmanship into the potato-covered surface of the table. Satisfied, he wiped his hand on his napkin, crossed his arms and gave the couple a self-satisfied nod.

Peter waited a moment or two to compose himself before trusting himself to speak and not yell. "Hon, is there any chance you'd be able to get Neal another serving of potatoes?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Just give me a minute." El walked around to the younger man's chair, reached over and took his plate.

"No need to hurry," Peter called to her retreating back.

As soon as his wife had disappeared into the kitchen, Peter pushed himself up and walked around to the younger man's chair.

It was about this time that Neal began to consider just how very 'unsmart' his stand really was. He craned his head, looking up into the irritated eyes of the agent and fingered some words of apology, which of course was of little use with Mrs Burke out of the room. In a slight panic, he reached out and wiped the 'Not' off the sentence he'd inscribed in the potatoes, smiling back up at the agent with some of the old Caffrey charm, hoping it may give him partial credit. It did not.

"Get! Up!"

Grimacing with the knowledge of what was most likely about to happen, he ever so slowly pushed himself up, facing the agent, keeping his rear out of harm's way for as long as-

"Right!"

Peter spun the boy so he faced the table and pushed him forward causing Neal's right hand to splatter into the mashed potatoes. "You want to do this the hard way. Fine with me," Peter whispered in the younger man's ear as he leaned over to retrieve the ruler.

Neal hung his head. He'd only himself to blame. Probably would have been an awful lot easier, certainly a hell of a lot less painful had he just eaten the meal and been done with it. When he was honest with himself, he had to admit that each time he ate a decent serving of the evening meal; he didn't wake up through the night with an empty, growling stomach like he did on those occasions when he barely touched his food. And now, after his little potato stunt, he was going to have to eat anyway while, as Agent Burke had warned, sitting on a very sore backside.

He cringed and flushed with embarrassment as he felt his sweat pants and boxers being tugged down to his knees. Thankfully, Mrs Burke was still in the kitchen. Having one of them see his bare behind was one too many.

Neal flinched as the old wooden ruler impacted his butt with a smarting sting. The ruler hit the same spot another four times as Neal bit his lip and squeezed the napkin he managed to reach out and grab. He then felt the same smarting sting land across the top of his thighs, followed once again by four more whacks, one on top of the other. The tears that had welled in the corners of his eyes spilled over and trailed each other down his face. Once again the ruler landed with force only this time on the tender under-curve where he would feel it the most when he sat down. As four more swats landed on their target, the young man considered it would be in his best interest to make no further stand regarding meals. When all was said and done, the food Mrs Burke cooked was really quite appetising. To date, Mrs Burke had steered clear of any pasta style foods and he should be grateful for her efforts. As he felt Agent Burke pulling up his boxers and pants, he found himself genuinely remorseful. Although when the agent pushed him back onto the unforgiving wooden chair, he felt a small measure of sympathy for himself. Mrs Burke returned a moment later, obviously having been clued enough to wait in the kitchen until the walloping had ended. She returned his plate, sporting a fresh serving of potatoes and Neal suspected an additional scoop of carrots.

The young man, keen to be off his butt as soon as humanly possible, attacked his food under the watchful scrutiny of 'mom' and 'dad'. About halfway into his meal, he put down his cutlery, ran his hand across the smeared potato and wrote a new sentence. El grinned happily and Peter couldn't help a little one of his own as he read out loud, "Boy this food tastes great, El."


	14. Chapter 14

Thankfully, after the 'great potato incident', Neal's issues with eating appeared to dissipate overnight. He began to eat his meals without persuasion of any type and surprisingly as an added bonus, with the healthy appetite of a grown man. El was delighted one afternoon to discover him snacking on cookies, and although dinner was almost ready, she didn't even care. A few nights later when Neal served himself a ladle of minestrone soup, Peter relocated the old wooden ruler back to the kitchen drawer, much to the delight the younger man who tossed a rare smile in El's direction once they were alone at the table.

That weekend, June invited El, Peter and Neal over for dinner. In actual fact, she had invited them a number of times prior but Peter and El had figured that with Neal's defiance over eating, it wouldn't be a particularly pleasant evening for any of them. But now that things had improved on the eating front, it seemed an appropriate time to take Neal back to his apartment for a visit, hopefully to see if the familiarity of the place he had called home could possibly assist him in breaking free from his mental blockade.

Peter stopped the Taurus in the 'no standing' zone situated outside June's front gate. It was the same spot he always pulled into whenever he prearranged to pick Neal up. It was where he'd pulled up to collect Neal the morning he was taken. "You two head on in, I'll go find a place to park." El was carrying a hot casserole dish so it made more sense to drop them off as close as possible. El climbed out of the car carefully and closed the passenger door. Peter turned in his seat, "Out you get buddy."

Neal shook his head and remained with his seatbelt firmly secured.

"It's okay, you go in with El, and I'll catch you up as soon as I get a park."

Neal snapped his fingers together. _No._

_Urrrrgh!_ Peter winched. They hadn't even made it out of the car and already there were issues. Had this been a very bad idea or what? He pushed the button for his passenger window. "Hey hon, you go on ahead, Neal and I will catch you up."

El smiled, "No worries, I'll see you both inside."

_We can only hope!_ Peter's thoughts were none too optimistic. He found a park soon after just around the block, turned off the engine and looked in his rear view mirror. A pair of insecure eyes looked back and immediately he felt himself transforming from frustrated partner to caring father – a common transformation of late. He climbed out and walked around to Neal's door. Opening it up, he held out his hand. "Out you get kiddo." The young man appeared even more anxious than before. "There's nothing to worry about. I won't let go of you."

Neal took a deep breath then clicked his seatbelt. He took the proffered lifeline as he climbed out of the vehicle. During the short walk to June's door, Peter kept a secure hand on Neal's shoulder, not feeling overly comfortable with the alternative idea of strolling down the street holding his 'sixteen year old' son's hand.

As they approached the door Neal stopped, pulled himself out from under the agent's grip and looked around. Finally his eyes settled on the concrete retaining wall that was his designated waiting spot for where Agent Burke sometimes met up with him. He walked over and ran his hand across the cold stone surface, examining the surrounds with great scrutiny.

"Hey bud." Peter placed his hand back on the younger man's shoulder. "You okay? Anything you want to tell me?" The agent knew this was where it all started, right here on this damn brick wall. He didn't want Neal to have to face that memory again but at some point it was inevitable. The desired intention was eventually to return the young man to the life he had before he was taken and that included living in his studio apartment with his endless supply of Devour suits and the ten million dollar view of the Manhattan skyline. The down side however was that for that to happen, Neal had to be able to pass this low set wall each and every time he left his apartment without having flashbacks or nightmares. "Neal," Peter prompted once more, "are you remembering something."

The young man looked thoughtful then much to Peter's discouragement; he shook his head and snapped his fingers together. _No._

Peter sighed, "All right kiddo, we better head in before the ladies send out a search party." The agent moved towards the door. Within a second, Neal was not only back by his side, but had grabbed a fist full of the agent's shirt sleeve with an iron-clad grip like it was his only link to a safe and secure outcome. Peter pressed the doorbell with his free hand while reasoning that although Neal had no idea what his mind was trying to remember, he knew by the trembling vibrations that were passing through the young man's hand, in through his shirt and into the side of his chest, that it was something very, very bad and perhaps he'd be better off not remembering at all.

###

June was so happy to see her darling boy. She had been to visit the Burkes a couple of times since Neal's rescue – the first time being when she took a bag of clothes over on the first night he was out of hospital. Peter had planned to call by with Neal to pick up some gear, but that plan went out the window when the agent had arrived home and found the kid already in a very negative place. He didn't want to chance what might transpire by returning him to the scene of the crime so June happily agreed to bring over a selection of outfits and personal essentials, pleased to be able to support her young man in any way possible. Now tonight he was finally coming home, even if but for a short time. Neal's first time back to see his apartment since….since it happened. Shaking those unpleasant thoughts from her mind she embraced the young man and kissed him all over his dear sweet face. "Come on Neal, let's go up and have you check out your room. Everything's just the way you left it." June excitedly led the entourage up the stairs. El followed and Peter brought up the rear with his clingy companion remaining firmly attached to the side of his shirt.

When they reached the loft, June walked to the balcony doors and opened them with an enthusiastic flourish. She spun around with her beautiful smile and asked, "Does it look familiar?"

Neal let go of Peter and looked around. He walked over to the table, checked out the view then held up his hand. He snapped his index finger and middle finger together with his thumb.

June smiled hopefully at her visitors. "Does he remember?"

Neither of the Burkes were prepared to burst this sweet older lady's bubble so they went with what always worked best in these uncomfortable situations - misdirection. "June, how about you and I start on dinner before these two hungry men get stuck into all the amazing deserts you've prepared. El had seen the selection downstairs – it was enough to feed an army.

Peter and Neal remained in the room after the ladies departed. "So… you don't remember any of this?" The agent waved his arm across the room.

Neal signed some words but Peter, not having his interpreter, had no idea what he'd just said. "Any chance you can use your voice?" the agent asked hopefully.

The young man smiled apologetically and dropped his head to study the floor.

"Okay, not to worry. It'll come back to you sooner or later I'm sure of it. But in the meantime," Peter checked the door to be sure they were alone, "can you do me a favour just for tonight and use some of your hidden talents?"

Neal raised his eyes looking curiously at the older man.

"June, she's you know….got a kind heart and she's been as worried about you as the rest of us. Perhaps you could maybe…" Peter hated to ask, knowing it was never good policy to awaken a sleeping giant, but desperate times and all… "maybe you could _fake _remembering something?"

Neal looked confused.

Peter thought for a moment, looking for a harmless example. "Perhaps if June puts on a song and says, 'Neal this one's your favourite,' you could maybe nod and appear like the tune is just a little bit familiar. I know it would bring a smile to her face. Do you think you could do that for me?"

Neal nodded in understanding then signed some more words, nothing of which Peter understood.

The two men were about to head out the door when Peter turned back and lowered his voice, "Of course, it goes without saying Neal that if you so much as turn your nose up at anything June puts in front of you tonight, I won't hesitate to turn you over my knee." The warning was delivered tongue in cheek, the agent holding back a smile as the words were spoken, but it was a warning nonetheless and Neal didn't think for a second that Agent Burke wouldn't carry through. Neal noted that he'd be sure to eat everything placed in front of him, and then some.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, Neal even came to the party with 'remembering' some of the things June asked him about which pleased her to no end. Peter considered during one of the interactions if it had been wrong to ask the kid to 'work a con' but after a short deliberation he came to the conclusion that it may possibly do more good than harm. There was a chance it may assist the young man in moving back to more familiar territory. The catchphrase about 'faking it till you make it' was on the 'old Neal's' words to live by list.

All too soon for June, they said their goodbyes and headed home. Overall, it had been a positive experience for everyone and they decided to do it all over again very soon. At some point in the future, Neal would undoubtedly be moving back to June's therefore a couple more nights like this one would go a long way to helping him feel secure and familiar with his old Manhattan loft apartment for when that finally took place.

###

Peter climbed out of bed the next morning feeling more normal and more alive than he had felt in a long time. Going out with El and Neal to June's had been just what the doctor ordered and certainly one of the more ordinary things they'd done together in a very long time. He slipped on his slippers, appreciating the fact that once again he was able to plant both feet on the ground without the fear of stepping on a grown man. _Ah, the simple pleasures in life!_

After visiting the bathroom and a quick change into some sweats and a t-shirt, the agent headed down the hall to check on his young charge but found his room to be surprisingly vacant. Peter was pleasantly surprised, reasoning that the whereabouts of the kid would have to be known to his wife who'd been the first to wake. If not, no doubt he would have been shaken awake much earlier and recruited to take command of a full-scale search.

Peter moseyed on down the stairs, stopping to ruffle the neck of his dog who had found a comfortable spot to slumber on the bottom tread. He could hear El talking in the kitchen, asking Neal if he could get some apples out of the fridge to cut up for the fruit salad. The agent smiled and spoke softly to Satchmo, "Seems a little too good to be true hey buddy? I wonder how long before it all comes crashing down?"

Way too soon it would seem. Peter walked into the kitchen just in time to see Neal slicing up the apples. Except he wasn't slicing up the apples, he was slicing up the palm of his left hand. "NEAL!"

The resounding clatter of the metal knife hitting the tiled floor after slipping out of Neal's hand was only surpassed by the crashing clang of El dropping the stainless steel salad bowl into the sink as she startled at her husband's booming voice. "PETER!"

Peter ignored his wife and went straight to the source of the problem. He grabbed Neal's hand, investigated that the damage wasn't at all life threatening then pushed him forward until he was bent slightly over the kitchen counter. Peter looked around for a moment, grabbed the closest appropriate utensil and began walloping the pyjama clad backside of his young charge.

After a dozen or so very fast, very painful whacks, Peter stopped and moved his lips within inches of his partner's right ear. "Does that hurt enough Neal?"

The young man remained bent, unmoving and silent. He lifted his hand, made a fist and shook it slowly. _Yes._

"Good because I've had more than enough of this nonsense. I asked you to tell me or El if you were feeling inclined to do something like this so let me warn you now, the next time you decide to be stupid enough to hurt yourself, I'm going to take my belt to your bare backside, and believe me, it's going to hurt plenty."

Peter discarded the wooden spoon onto the counter and stormed out the front door, possibly to walk off some steam.

El wiped her hands clean on some paper towel and moved over to inspect the damage herself. "Oh sweetie, let's take a look."

Neal held out his hand but looked away, not wanting to see the disappointment in Mrs B's eyes.

"It doesn't look too bad but how about we go upstairs and wash it with some antibacterial cream just to be sure?"

The young man followed Mrs Burke up the stairs while wondering what on Earth had possessed him to slice the skin open on his palm. The pain from the cut was only slightly less uncomfortable than the smarting sting emanating from his backside. By the time they had reached the bathroom, Neal had concluded that no matter what obscure reason he could conjure up as to why he had cut himself, there was no way he was going to be 'stupid enough to cut himself' again and face Agent Burke with his extremely unpleasant sounding ultimatum.

###

El found Peter on the back porch about an hour later giving Satchmo a tummy rub. She'd sent Neal up to the bedrooms to change the sheets and collect the towels and linen for the wash knowing it would keep him busy for the next half hour or so. Peter had skipped breakfast having lost his appetite and had not come in from outside since his impromptu walk around several city blocks.

"Feeling better?" El sat down and placed a loving arm around her husband's shoulder.

Peter sighed deeply, "No, not really."

"What's bothering you the most hon? The fact that he cut himself again or the fact that you used my limited edition gourmet chef's spoon to whack his backside?"

Peter smiled and kissed his wife on the top of her head as he pulled her in close. "Certainly not the later. If your prized Jamie Oliver bamboo cheese board had been within arm's reach I would have gladly snatched it up to use as a paddle."

"Peter Burke don't you even joke about that!" El feigned anger, going along with the opportunity to break away from the seriousness of the real issue at hand. "You so much as lay a finger on that cheeseboard other than to sample one of my cranberry pinwheels and I will use it as a paddle on _your_ backside."

Peter laughed. "Okay, okay, note to self, do not touch my wife's precious kitchen equipment."

"Good advice." El leaned into her husband some more, "It's nice to hear you laugh. I don't hear it nearly enough these days."

"I'm sorry hon, it's just that-"

"No, there's no need to be sorry, for anything honey. I understand implicitly what you are going through."

"Still, I am sorry; I shouldn't have stormed off like I did this morning."

"Yes you should have. It was important to let off some steam. The walk probably did you the world of good."

"I hope so." Peter shook his head and sighed, "It's just so frustrating El. One minute it looks like everything is getting better and returning to normal and then he goes and does something stupid like cutting his hand, intentionally. It's like one step forward and two steps back."

"Nah, it's more like two steps forward, one back. You have to expect there to be hiccups along the road to recovery Peter."

"Yeah but I expect those hiccups to be just that, simple little hurdles that are meaningless, not something as dire as stabbing himself with a knife."

"It wasn't so much of a stab as…as a mere slice?" El tried to soften the severity of the situation.

Her husband didn't buy into it. "He cut himself El, bottom line. And I want to know why. I want him to sit across from me and use his words and say, 'Hey Peter, I'm sorry I was such an idiot. Certainly I will never do it again and well in case you were wondering I did it because….'"

"At some point he will start talking again hon, just give him time. I think it was a good move taking him to June's last night. Perhaps you should consider taking him to the Bureau for a visit one day this week. You never know, it may prompt some part of his brain to remember where he was at, mentally, before he was taken."

"Perhaps I could take him in on Wednesday. My schedule's pretty full for tomorrow and Tuesday but mid-week might work. I know that Agents Holloway and Fench would love to have a chat, but it's probably a little too soon for that. I was going to leave his first bureau visit until he started talking again but taking him in this week may not be a bad idea. Good thinking, hon." Peter kissed his wife on top of her head once more. "I knew I married you for a reason."

"What reason was that? For my bright ideas or how I relentlessly save your butt by digging you out of trouble."

"Well, I was going to say because I'm addicted to the smell of the shampoo you use in your hair but those other reasons are also valid."

Standing up El kissed her husband on his head, "Nup. I don't feel the same overpowering love with your hair."

"Hey!"

"Come on you," El held out her hand, "we have chores to do."

"Can't we get Neal to do all the jobs?" Peter moaned. "Isn't that why we had a kid in the first place?"

"You know hon, comments like that are the reason Andy thinks Neal's your actual son."

"He does not, he's just fooling around."

"So sure are you?"

"Yeah…. of course I'm... sure…?" But Peter wasn't even able to convince himself.


	15. Chapter 15

Over the next two days, Peter and El kept a close eye on their boy. They didn't want him to feel self-conscious or have him think there may be something wrong with him but at the same time, they didn't want to take any chances either. Peter tried to keep the kid busy - watching movies together in the evening as a family, walking Satchmo before work each morning, insisting on versing him in a game of chess after dinner each night. Even though Neal was not at all interested in showing off his grand chess master talents, he won each time anyway. El took the young man shopping to help pick out some new work shirts for Peter, something the old Neal would have jumped at the chance of doing, but this new Neal simply agreed to everything El held up for inspection. Peter gave the boy extra attention - lots of pats on the back when he saw him doing something for himself, lots of praise for eating meals without fuss and he even managed to squeeze out a hug or two when he tucked the kid into bed each night while switching on the trio of lights that illuminated Neal's room into artificial broad daylight.

Peter rolled over in bed and checked the time. It was time to make a move. He had mixed feelings about taking Neal back to the Bureau. A field trip into the lion's den could go either way and the agent wasn't sure if he was mentally prepared to handle it himself, if by any chance the outing went south. His concern wasn't for his colleagues; they had been so very supportive throughout the entire ordeal, even Hughes, who was ordinarily straight down the line and by the book, showed understanding and compassion when it came to Peter and Neal's situation. Hughes had let Peter know early on, immediately after his young partner's rescue that he could take off any number of days, half days, late starts, whatever he deemed necessary to help make the situation easier on everybody. And even though Peter's superior, no doubt had very little appreciation of the special bond between the agent and his CI, Hughes understood his best agent would not be working at one hundred percent efficiency until such a time as his partner had made a full recovery. Therefore, Hughes was smart enough to accept that allowing Peter any time he needed off work to tend to his troublesome young CI was a valuable investment.

Peter's junior agents would be happy to see Neal walk through the glass doors of the White Collar office once more. It had been way too long since they'd seen the patent Caffrey smile or had been forced to sit and listen to one of the conman's tales of past adventures while being secretly jealous, wishing it had been them instead. Of course, they'd be no such tales this morning when Peter arrived with his young partner, nor any chance of a Caffrey smile. Neal had rarely smiled since it all happened. Peter hoped, even though he'd warned his colleagues of the changes in Neal, that they wouldn't be too shocked or disappointed. But if they were, he was sure they'd be professional enough to keep it to themselves.

No, his only worry, not surprisingly was Neal. His partner would be the only loose cannon in the White Collar office this morning. Peter felt like a dad having to take his hyperactive four year old into work for the day, hoping he wasn't going to spill coffee onto the computer or accidently break the boss's lifetime achievement award; except Peter wasn't really worried about computers or awards. He was however, worried about envelope openers and sharp pencils and pocket knives and…and guns. Anything that could be picked up and used as a weapon to hurt oneself, if one really wanted to. The office was full of such 'weapons' and even though no one had a semi-automatic sitting atop their work desk, they were there regardless and simple locks and gun holsters had never been a concern for his CI in the past. Somewhere buried deep inside the younger man, those skills and talents surely lay dormant. Peter hopped they wouldn't resurface today of all days if the surroundings of the office and the familiarity of friends and colleagues didn't begin to chip away at the metal barrier Neal had erected around himself.

Peter pulled back the covers and sat up on the edge of his bed. El had headed downstairs about ten minutes earlier to get the breakfast underway and he was certain he'd heard Neal follow soon after. Peter was happy that at least one part of their day had developed some semblance of normality. Neal was taking on a more active role in doing things by his own accord, which offered Peter perfect opportunities for positive reinforcement. If in the vicinity when El began cooking, Neal would move in to assist without being asked. El had discussed with Peter if they should restrict the young man from using knives, scissors or any other dangerous weapons but Peter had pointed out how that would require an awful lot of everyday household objects to be put out of harms reach from the kid and it would be akin to sweeping the problem under the carpet rather than actually helping the problem to be rectified. Having said that, both El and Peter held their breaths momentarily two nights before when Neal hoisted a carving knife, as it turned out, rather innocently, with every intention of doing nothing other than cutting the chicken into serving pieces.

Peter headed into the bathroom for a shower and shave, making a mental note to send Neal up as soon as he'd eaten breakfast to do the same. The kid's attire of late – a t-shirt and sweat pants – would not suffice for the Bureau. He'd broken the news to Neal last night that he'd be taking him into the office today but the young man had made no comment on the matter, almost like he was mulling it over in his head if he deemed it a good idea or not.

Peter tucked in his medallion under his collar and secured the top button of his shirt as he strolled down the stairs, nudging his dog who was managing to lie across the entire step. "Satchmo, you need to find a new place for your morning slumber."

The dog ignored him as usual so Peter navigated around and made his way into the kitchen where his beautiful wife was pouring three delectable smelling coffees. "Have I told you how much I love you?" Peter declared as he wrapped his arms around his wife, kissing her numerous times down her neck.

"No, I don't think you have," El kissed back, "well, not this morning anyway, so…please do."

"I love you, honey."

"Mmmm, again!" El snuggled into her husband's chest feeling like it was the most wonderful place in the whole world and continued kissing.

"Can't."

El pulled away, in mock shock. "Why?"

"Cause you do any more kissing and our 'teenage son' is going to walk right in on the part where I'm pulling off your shirt."

"Mmm, yeah, that could really spoil the mood." El released Peter and continued with gathering the breakfast dishes.

"Yeah…speaking of which, where is the little terror?"

"I sent him out with the trash." El pointed an accusatory finger, "You mister had managed to accumulate a substantial pile of empty beer and wine bottles on the corner of my kitchen bench."

"Yeah, but it's not like that part of the counter gets used for anything else."

El gave her husband one of those glares that said 'end of story', no further discussion necessary so she moved on. "I think Neal's decided to not to go in with you this morning."

"Uh, why'd you say that? Not that it's his choice anyway."

"Well, his wearing his sweats and a tee for one thing."

Peter shrugged. "He gets dressed like that every day, unless we tell him otherwise. That's not a surprise." The agent plucked one of the fresh strawberries off the breakfast platter and popped it in his mouth.

"Well, that's true." El removed the platter out of Peter's reach before he took any more. "So there's that and oh, yeah, he also signed to me before I sent him out with the bottles that he wasn't going into the Bureau with you today and you couldn't make him."

Peter turned away from El and head-butted the fridge. Not too hard, it was more of a symbolic head butt than anything else. "Urrrggghh! One step forward-"

"Two steps forward," El reminded.

"Why can't just one thing be simple?" Peter shook his head wondering how best to handle this latest dilemma. "Where is he anyway? How long does it take to put a couple of empties in the trash?"

The agent walked over the window and craned his neck to a spot where he could see the trashcans. Sure enough, his partner was standing there, examining something? Peter squinted his eyes for a clearer picture and finally worked out that Neal was studying a piece of broken glass. The agent's adrenaline kicked in immediately as he whipped around El, out the kitchen and out through the back door. His own hand had encircled the younger man's wrist within seconds of noticing him out the kitchen window. He lifted the kid's arm that held the glass with his FBI trained hand wrapped securely around the boney wrist. He could feel the young man's pulse beating through his palm, possible because he was holding it so tight he was all but cutting off the circulation. He didn't care. Peter was about to begin to lecture Neal on the hazards of broken glass when his eye caught a glistening on the broken piece of bottle that was not the glass itself. In fact, the glass was wet, and red…like blood. The agent felt his breathing constrict and heart palpitations kick into overdrive as he reluctantly forced his eyes to look down at his partner's other hand that lay limp by his side. Off the end of each finger and thumb dripped little droplets of claret…drip….drip…., which splattered without sound….drip…drip… onto the grass below. Drip…Drip…Drip…


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: Thank you all kindly for your awesome reviews! I am having sooooooooo much fun reading them before I head off to work each morning and then I can't wait to get home to turn on the computer in the evening for the ones that have come in through the day. I love sharing these fics with you all, ultimately because your reviews make me so happy. I shall eventually get around to replying, but rest assured if I didn't have to go to work I would love nothing more than to sit around and chat all day! And now for the WARNING! Peter is about to come down pretty hard on Neal, (just for one little scene) so can I recommend if you are worried that it may be a little harsh, you consider, just for this chapter, reading the Hopeless Passage version of Chapter 16 (Having said that, Chapter 16 of Hopeless is not a spring stroll in the park either!). It all connects back again after this chapter.

###

Peter's world began to spin as he accepted that this was not a bad dream, not a nightmare, but reality. He was actually awake, actually standing in his backyard, and he suspected that his boy had actually just slit his wrist. He dug deep and drew on his agent training, not prepared to see this episode have the same horrific ending as the one that ended in a pool of blood at his feet. He shook himself back to where he was needed most - right here, right now.

Peter released Neal's hand that was holding the broken glass and reached down, carefully grabbing the other. He lifted it up into view and turned the arm over to inspect the damage. The agent almost cried with relief. Sure enough, Neal had indeed slit open his wrist with the broken glass but while the cut was long and nasty looking, it had not been deep enough to penetrate an artery.

Like every parent before him, the moment Peter accepted his boy was out of danger, fear and panic manifested itself into outright anger in a matter of milliseconds. Peter snatched the broken glass out Neal's good hand and tossed it with force into the nearest trashcan. Then, grabbing the kid by the scruff of his neck, he marched him past El who'd been on her way down to investigate and planted him onto the couch in the living room.

El had made a U-turn and thoughtfully grabbed a tissue box off the sideboard on her way past, pushing her husband out of the way to take a look for herself at the damage. "Peter, I need antiseptic lotion and the medi-kit. Oh and can you run one of the cloths under some warm water along with that green bucket from under the basin, thanks hon." Elizabeth didn't wait to see if she'd been obeyed, instead she got stuck right into the job of cleaning up the young man's wrist. Peter brought down the gear as requested and placed it onto the coffee table that El was using as a doctor's stool. The agent stepped back behind his wife, accepting there was no more he could do until she was finished. But when she was, his 'son' was going to have a awful lot to answer for!

El cleaned the wound with professional care, flushed it with disinfectant, lathered it with anti-bacterial lotion and taped it up with several layers of sterile bandages. She took her time applying the expert dressing, almost bordering on pedantic with the attention she paid to bandaging up the young man's wrist. Eventually she declared Neal to be 'all done' and packed up her gear, casting a quick glance over her shoulder before announcing in a regretful tone, "'I'm just going to take these things back up to the bathroom, sweetie." El stood up, stepping off to the side and away from the coffee table, leaving Neal unobscured access to one large, one angry, one frustrated father figure who'd given a crystal clear warning of what to expect the next time he was stupid enough to hurt himself.

For want of somewhere else to look, Neal dropped his gaze and stared at his wrist, examining the white sterile bandage that was doing a fine job of preventing blood from oozing out of the gash he'd just inflicted upon himself. It was stinging, as much from all the smelly ointment Mrs Burke had poured into it as from the actual wound itself. After stalling for as long as he could, he shifted the focus of his eyes off the bandage, across the coffee table and ultimately onto the navy blue business slacks Agent Burke had dressed in to wear to work. With great reluctance Neal lifted his eyes, ever so slowly, his focus travelling up the slacks until it locked onto the agent's hands which were resting on his hips while the fingers of said hands danced impatiently on the shiny black leather belt threaded through the agent's pants.

The young man gulped audibly. It was the loudest sound he's made thus far since his rescue but that was all about to change.

Peter took a deep breath and shook his head. The kid had done it again – only this time, it was just like in his dream. Well, almost like his dream; too close to his dream to find any comfort in the differences. Determination and decisiveness swept through the agent's body like a tidal wave as he set his mind to a clear course of action. No way was he going to give the kid another chance at…dare he even think it?…at trying to kill himself! No. If he had to spank the kid to prevent more serious consequences, he would do it every day until he snapped out this craziness. Without taking his eyes off the boy, Peter reached down and unbuckled his belt. Not caring about the look of horror this action alone brought about across the younger man's face, Peter slid the thick leather belt out of the loops of his pants and doubled it over. Without pausing, he stepped around the coffee, reached down and wrapped his hand around the kid's upper arm, hoisted him to his feet and dragged him across to the table.

"Pants. Down."

Realising he had very little choice in the matter, Neal only hesitated for a second before complying. He pushed his sweat pants and boxers down past his knees and bent over the table without needing to be ordered. He knew how this worked. He could recall sometime in his past, Agent Burke strapping him for getting caught up in some dangerous affair with possibly a Cuban and something to do with breaking into his cigar lounge? Neal wasn't sure of the details but he did recall Agent Burke being furious and giving him a sound hiding with a heavy leather strap. He remembered it had hurt – a lot! Neal fathomed that this hiding wouldn't be any less painful. He buried his head into his arms and waited.

Peter lifted the kid's t-shirt up out of the way, pulled back his arm and swung the leather belt with speed, whacking his young charge hard across his bare backside, as promised.

Owwww. Neal flinched and sucked in his breath, the belt was every bit as painful as he'd expected.

"So Neal, tell me…you just woke up this morning and decided that instead of coming in to work with 'Agent Burke', you'd rather stay at home and slit your wrist?" Peter swung again, hitting the same spot with the same velocity.

Owwww. Neal gripped the tablecloth, hopping to squeeze out some of the pain through his fingers.

"What's going on Neal? Why are you so damn intent on hurting yourself?" Peter lifted his arm and walloped the kid once more, right over the top of the other two stripes.

Arrggh…Neal felt hot tears welling in the corners of his eyes accepting that the next whack was going to bring on a flood.

But before the next stroke landed, Peter grabbed the kid by the back of his shirt and hoisted him off the table, turning him so they were facing each other. Neal was thankful that his shirt was long enough to offer him modesty but considering how much his backside was smarting, he probably could have cared less. Without thinking, he reached back to rub out some of the sting.

"Do I have your attention Neal?"

The young con stopped rubbing his sore rear long enough to sign. _Yes_

"Good. Because this is what's going to happen." Peter was pointing with the doubled over belt right into the younger man's personal space. "Either you are going to tell me exactly what this is all about, why you keep wanting to hurt yourself, cut yourself, whatever, or option two, I'm going to give you a really strong incentive never to do anything like this again. Either way Neal," Peter grabbed a hold of the young man's wrist and lifted it up into his line of vision, "this stops here! Right here, right now! There will be no more doing this to yourself ever again!" The agent let go of Neal's arm. "So which is it Neal? Are you going to start talking or am I going to continue with the 'incentive'?"

Neal took his hands off his stinging backside once more and brought them forward, moving them swiftly into hastily formed words that might possibly rescue him from of the remainder of the punishment.

"No Neal!" Peter slapped away the hands. "That wasn't one of the options. Start talking right now or bend back over the table. Your choice."

Neal actually opened his mouth and for a moment, the agent believed his young charge may begin to speak, but then disappointingly he closed his lips together and gave Peter that same defeated expression he'd been sporting for weeks. Neal lifted his hands once more but before he had a chance to sign anything, he was spun around and hauled back over the table.

Neal didn't wait for the belt to hit to release his tears; he began the minute his face made contact with the table.

Elizabeth heard the soft whimpering cries of the young man. She had departed the room quickly after patching Neal up, knowing full well what her husband's intentions were. Peter was nothing, if not true to his word. He had promised their boy a thrashing the next time he cut himself and El didn't need to hear the sounds of leather striking bare skin to know what was going on downstairs. In fact, she didn't want to hear it at all but reasoned that Neal may very well begin to sign some type of explanation to get himself out of his troubles and if she stayed upstairs no one would be there to understand. So, while trying in vain to block out the unmistakable sound of one very painful spanking she reluctantly traipsed back down the stairs. El was about halfway down when she heard the cries and while there had been silent tears from their boy a couple of times since his rescue, this was the first time they'd actually been audio to accompany them. El rounded the bottom step and edged her way closer. Peter was too busy lecturing to acknowledge her return.

"El and I are doing what we can Neal to keep you safe." Whack. "But you need to be responsible too." Whack.

I…I am responsible, Agent Burke, the young man thought, recalling something along those lines, at some point, inscribed on his torso. He opened his mouth to tell the agent but no sound came out.

"No more hurting yourself Neal." Whack.

Owww. Please stop. Neal tried to say it but it was like he was in the middle of a bad dream and his voice wouldn't work.

"Does this hurt enough Neal, because last time obviously wasn't enough?" Whack.

Owww. Neal nodded. It hurts plenty. No more.

"Why Neal? Why do you think you need to do this?" Whack.

"Owwww."

Peter stopped with his arm in midair and raised his eyebrows. He spun around and looked at El. She'd heard it too.

"Neal?... Neal?... Why did you do it? Why did you slit your wrist?" Peter placed his hand on the younger man's back and shook it slightly, hoping that mere action alone would 'push out' another word or two. It did not. Disappointedly, Peter sighed deeply and pulled back his arm, delivering another painful stroke to the young man's behind.

"You know Neal, I've only myself to blame." Whack. "I should have put a stop to this…nonsense the first time you scratched yourself with the nail." Whack. "It's my fault I've allowed this to happen once again but mark my words," Whack, "I won't be allowing it anymore." Whack.

"N-no. It's m-my fault. It-It's all my f-fault." The words were barely above a whisper but both Peter and El had heard them, clear as day. Their boy was speaking again!

"Hey…" Peter dropped the belt onto the floor and reached down to gather up the younger man's pants. Pushing aside all his concerns of the self-harm incident, he pulled the boy up off the table and turned him into a tight hug. "Hey kiddo, it's so good to hear your voice."

El raced over and joined in, "Neal sweetie," she wiped lovingly at the tears, "it's going to be okay, we'll work it out."

"M-my f-fault…" Neal continued to blubber between hitched breaths.

"A little bit, yeah, but we're all partly to blame. Let's not worry about whose fault it is right now; the main thing is you've started talking again." Peter was so happy. The lines of communication were once again open giving him a sporting chance at getting to the bottom of what had been troubling Neal so deeply. An interrogation had been an impossible task while the kid remained mute. Peter pulled his sobbing partner back into his chest, all anger and frustration from moments before giving way to sympathy and relief. But the volume of the kid's weeping continued to increase, he was really working himself up into a state. "Hey, buddy, calm down."

Neal lifted his head off Peter's chest and rubbed his hands across his face. "I-I'm s-sorry Agent Burke. I-I'm in s-so much trouble. I-I should have t-told you, I'm s-sorry but I d-didn't want to go to p-prison."

Peter looked at El who was sporting a matching puzzled expression plastered with concerned. "Huh, hey Neal, slow down buddy, I don't know what you are taking about." Peter dragged the kid back to the couch, guiding him around the coffee table after he partly stumbled over it, and dropped him back into the seat. Neal was too upset to react to his freshly spanked backside landing on the harsh material of the couch, a sure sign that Neal's emotional state went far beyond any physical pain. Peter sat down beside his young partner and El pulled over an armchair so she could reach out and place a comforting hand on the boy's leg. Peter's resolve crumbled at the boy's distress and he seriously considered if he really wanted to open a can of worms that he was certain he would regret. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot left in the way of alternative choices. "Neal, I need you to stop crying and tell me why you think you're in so much trouble."

Somehow the young man pulled himself together after wiping his hands across his face and blowing his nose on his shirt. Eventually, he looked up at Peter through red wet swollen eyes that cracked the older man's heart even further. "Agent Burke, it's all my fault. I'm the reason she's dead…. I am responsible for everything… I…I killed..." Neal began to lose it again as his voice quivered. "If-if it wasn't for me… t-that w-would have h-happened…" Neal's whimpers turned into a full-blown deluge of howling tears as he bent forward, put his head down on his knees … and cried out fifteen years of stockpiled tears.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: I sure was having a lot of fun reading some of the theories you all had regarding what was going to happen next. I guess that will probably all come to an end now :( as Neal opens up and begins to talk about his past. This next chapter was inspired a lot by my favourite West Wing episode – Noel, and in particular when Stanley demands of Josh, "How. Did. You. Cut. Your. Hand."

###

Neal cried and wept and sobbed for the longest time, shedding a half a lifetime of suppressed grief and guilt in a torrent of heartbreaking tears. Sometime during the kid's emotional breakdown, Peter had managed to untangle the boy from the ball he'd all but wrapped himself in and manoeuvred Neal's head so it was resting on his own lap. El had brought down a wet cloth, a cold glass of water and some headache tablets, and then she'd returned to collect more pain relief for herself.

Peter stroked the boy's back and waited, listening to the pitiful sound as years of built up torment poured openly out of his system. The agent had no idea what the kid had just confessed to. He had no knowledge whatsoever of Neal killing someone, not even an inkling. The whole idea went against every grain in the kid's body, but what if Neal had indeed killed someone? Would that change the agreement that had been worked out with the Bureau? For sure, Peter would protect his partner using every arsenal within his power, but unfortunately his power had limits and the law would at some point intervene once manslaughter factored in. Hopefully, the kid would have age on his side. If Peter's suspicions were correct, Neal's confession was of an event from around fifteen years before meaning the offence would have been committed when his partner was a minor. But still, with that added to his record, the parole agreement with the FBI would be scrutinized. It wouldn't be good. Peter felt an immense pain take hold in his head and he asked his wife ever so kindly if she'd mind getting a couple more headache tablets. He had no doubt he'd need them.

After forever and a day, or possibly closer to an hour or two - Peter felt like it was the former from the way his head hurt and his legs ached, Neal finally cried out the last of his tears and sat himself up, with a lot help from the other two.

"How you feeling sweetie?" El wasn't certain if Neal would continue to talk but she hoped for the best.

The young man rubbed shaky hands across his wet, swollen eyes. "My head hurts."

Peter gave a grateful sideways glance at his wife. He had also wondered if the talking had been a short-term arrangement. Relieved that it wasn't, he ruffled the kid's hair, "There's a lot of that going around sport."

Neal turned towards the older man while grumbling, "And my rear end is smarting from the beating you gave me Peter. Did you really have to do such a number on me?"

"Yes, I did," the agent defended, "You were…wait, did you just call me Peter?"

Neal looked at his partner like he'd just grown an extra head, "Yeah…that's still your name…isn't it?" Truth be told, Neal wasn't sure about anything.

"Yes, but what about Agent…Neal, how old are you?"

"Peter, my head is hurting," Neal rubbed circles into his temples, "and your questions aren't helping."

"Sweetie," El pulled her chair closer, "just humour my husband, you know how he is. How old are you?"

Neal sighed with frustration, "Last time I checked, thirty-one."

Peter and El both visibly relaxed, slumping in their seats like a giant weight had just been lifted. Neal didn't notice.

"And sweetie, where do you work?"

"Elizabeth…" the young man whined.

"Think of this as a concussion check my boy. You've had them before, you know the drill. Just answer my wife please, you know how she gets! Easier for all of us if you just play along." Peter winked at El, more than happy to return her cheeky remarks.

The younger man sighed like it was ever so painful to answer. "I'm Neal Caffrey, I'm thirty-one, I work at the Bureau as your right-hand man and I'm sitting in the Burke's living room."

El wanted to squeal with delight but at the same time, she didn't want to upset the frail harmony of the moment so she went with, "Good work, sweetie. Now was that so hard?"

"No Elizabeth," Neal wriggled on the couch, "but my seat is, so," he pushed himself up to his feet and gave his backside a vigorous rub. "Would you mind if I went and had a shower, cleaned myself up a bit?"

"No, of course not. You'll just have to…avoid getting water on your bandage, or I can rewrap it for you if it gets wet so either is fine sweetie." El didn't want to bring any undue attention to the cause of this particular emotional episode and was sorry she'd even mentioned it. "I'm sure a shower will make you feel a whole lot better."

"Some of me anyway," the young con whined while holding a comforting hand against his rear end. He stretched out his legs as he headed towards the stairs.

"Neal."

The young man stopped with his hand on the balustrade but didn't turn around. "Yes Peter?"

"When you come back down, we need to talk."

Neal dropped his head and began to climb the stairs while responding despondently, "I know."

###

While they waited, Peter and El did some token tidying up, keeping themselves busy as they listened to the sound of the shower running upstairs, neither wanting to talk about the emotional confession the young man had given or what was going to come out next now that he was talking again. If they were honest with each other, neither of them wanted to hear about any horrific experiences their boy had been through as a teenager, suspecting it would be the type of knowledge that one would rather they had never been privy to in the first place. Perhaps they could do what Neal had done and force it to the far depths of their mind, hoping for it never to resurface.

El placed three freshly brewed coffees on the table while trying to work out how long ago she'd poured the first. She also put some cookies on the table - not that anyone would feel like eating but it was symbolic of everything being back to the way it should be. Peter collected his belt off the floor where it had landed next the table and threaded it back through his pants. He wasn't sorry he'd whipped the kid. Neal had cut himself and even though all that nonsense had been forgotten with the subsequent meltdown, he reminded himself how terrifying it was to see that nasty, self-inflicted gash across his boy's wrist, something he never wanted to have to deal with again. A tender backside was not too high a price to pay for insurance against such a repeat offense.

###

Peter and El sat at the table long after the shower had turned off, drinking their coffees in silence, neither knowing what to say, even if they'd had the energy to speak. The deflated couple sat deep in thought; replaying the snippets of explanation the kid had dropped on them before his crash and burn. Despite the whole episode been emotionally draining, they both understood with open clarity that the worst was yet to come.

"Do you think I should go up on check on him, hon?"

Peter pushed himself up off his chair feeling more like an old man than a federal agent. "Nah, it's okay, I'll go."

El gave him a reassuring smile as he moved towards the stairs, thankful that Peter had offered.

Peter dragged himself up the stairs and walked down the hall to his kid's room, pushing open the door that was already slightly ajar. "Neal?" he whispered softly. "Neal?" he repeated as he walked over to the bed where the younger man was lying face down atop of the covers, his head turned towards the far wall. Peter sat down on the edge of the mattress and placed his hand gently onto his partner's back. "Hey buddy, we need to talk." After waiting a moment or two with no response, Peter tried again, more firmly this time, "Neal, turn over please so we can chat."

"Go away," the kid grumbled into the pillow.

"Neal, I'm not going away," Peter wasn't relinquishing this rare opportunity to confront whatever had been troubling his young charge, despite how unpleasant it was going to be for all of them. "Now, please sit up or at least roll over so I can see your face while we talk."

Neal held up his hand and snapped his two fingers together with his thumb.

_Urrrggggh!_ Peter rolled his eyes, lifted his arm and brought an almighty swat down onto the kid's backside.

"Arrrh! Peter! Would you stop it already!" Neal flipped himself over and sprung to his feet, removing himself with lightning speed out of harm's way. "You don't think my butt's smarting enough already!"

Peter feigned innocence and shrugged, "I wasn't sure."

Neal glared angrily at his handler but had to drop the attitude immediately when El walked into his room carrying a freshly brewed cup of coffee. "Thank you Elizabeth."

She placed it onto the chest of drawers and sat down beside her husband on the bed. "You're welcome sweetie. Why don't you drink it while it's hot?" It had been the third cup she'd poured for the young man this morning, perhaps this time he'd actually get to drink it.

Neal nodded but didn't pick up the mug. Instead he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and began pacing around the room, not wanting to go in the direction he knew this discussion was about to head. While having his shower he had concluded that it was a not a road he was keen to travel down anytime soon. He didn't want to open old wounds, not now, not later, not ever.

"Neal…" Peter's voice had reverted back to its soft, caring tone, "I need to ask you some questions."

Neal glanced at the older man but didn't respond.

"I need you to tell me what happened to you when….when you were a teenager."

Neal stopped at the chest of drawers and fiddled with the coffee mug. "I got a new bike, I had my first kiss, I played hooky from school, I-"

"Neal! You know what I'm talking about." Peter had to fight the urge to jump up and wring the boy's neck but he considered he would be less intimidating and get further with his investigation if he remained sitting on the bed, besides El had a fairly firm grip on his knee.

"I'm not sure I do Peter, perhaps you could tell me." The kid knew how to push buttons and if he upset the agent enough, maybe he could dig himself out the nasty hole he'd fallen into.

"Neal," Peter sighed, "please come and sit down and tell us what happened when you were younger, tell us whatever it was that's had you so disturbed these past few weeks."

"What do you want me to say Peter!" Neal was getting angry. Why wouldn't Peter ask him directly about what he'd done…or about her? Why was he beating around the bush? Did Peter know already? Neal continued to work himself up into a state as he paced around the room like a caged tiger.

Peter stood up and walked over to his partner, wrapping his hand securely around the back of the younger man's neck to steady him up. "Neal…I want you to start at the beginning and tell me what you did when you were sixteen that had you confined to a dark room where I'm guessing, you were unable to talk for a very long time."

Neal shot his eyes up, looking at the agent stunned. His mouth agape, the one word he wanted to say unable to come out, so instead he signed. Curving both hands, palms down, he pressed them together and rolled them forward_. How?_

"I figured out the basics Neal, you left enough breadcrumbs. But now I need you to sit down and tell me exactly what happened."

Neal pulled away from the older man and shook his head."I'm sorry to disappoint you Peter but I don't remember, it's all a blur."

"Yes, you do remember Neal," the agent insisted firmly, "You've had locked it away for a very long time, but the incident with Franklin Holmes somehow brought it all to the surface. And ever since, you've been trying to bury it back down where you don't have to face it." Peter reached out and took the young man's arm, hoping to anchor him to the present. "You've been trying desperately for three weeks Neal. For three weeks you've been fighting an internal battle to shut down remembering what happened all those years ago. But rather than suppressing those memories, Neal, you began to relive them."

"I have not!" Neal was angry, and defensive, and he couldn't do a damn thing to control the tears that had returned to his eyes.

"Yes Neal you have." Peter locked eyes with the younger man. "Now I need you to answer my question."

Neal was losing it fast and all but yelled, "Which one!"

Peter moved into the young man's personal space, "Why. Did. You. Cut. Yourself?"

Neal pulled himself out from under Peter's hold and shouted out angrily, "Because it should have been ME! It's my stupid fault! She'd be alive if it wasn't for me. I'm responsible!" Neal stabbed at his chest where those words had been. "It's my fault!" Neal spun towards the wall and with all his might he kicked it with his foot.

Of course that didn't go over well! His butt was smarting, his wrist was stinging and now his foot was throbbing. Plus there was that and yeah, the awful big hole he'd just kicked through the Burke's plasterboard wall. _Crap!_ Suddenly depleted of all anger and frustration, he cringed as he turned to face the owners of said plasterboard. "Uh…s-sorry about that?"

El didn't look too concerned, well, she still looked concerned but it was all to do with the words that had been spoken, it was unlikely she'd even noticed the hole in the wall. Peter noticed, but he could have cared less. He needed to get somewhere with breaking through to his young charge and was worried if he stopped now, Neal may clam up for who knew how long. Deciding enough was enough, he grabbed a hold of the younger man and hauled him over towards the bed, grabbing the desk chair along the way.

_No, not again!_ Neal was about to plead his case, when he found himself being planted into the desk chair while the agent resumed his spot on the bed. Neal's rear end stung as it made contact with the solid silky oak surface of the wooden chair but he dared not complain. El reached out and took his hand in hers, reassuring him that he was not about to go through this alone. Peter also rested a rather supportive hand onto his knee. With shaky hands Neal reached out and placed his own on top of theirs and then, with butterflies in his stomach and a quiver in his voice he began…"I don't know where to start."

Peter squeezed the younger man's knee. "Start at the beginning kiddo. What happened when you were sixteen?"

Neal swallowed hard, "Fourteen."

"Fourteen? Something bad happened when you were fourteen, Sweetie?"

"Lots of bad things happened since way before that…but I guess fourteen is about the age I was when the wheels began to fall off the wagon."

El would have said something by way of response but she found her throat restricted and didn't trust she could speak without her emotions adding to the depressing tale that was about to be recalled.

"When I was…when I was around fourteen, Mom brought home a new boyfriend, another loser just like the rest, and after a while of him and I …not seeing eye-to-eye, for want of a better term… I took off. Headed to the city and began to find my place in the world. I'd grown up on the streets in New Jersey. Mom was never around much, so I knew how to take care of myself. I honed my skills picking pockets, pulling cons, B got real good at it and started making a bit of a name for myself with the local crews. I became…sought after. When they needed someone small, someone who could get into tight places a grown man could not, I was their man. I made a tidy sum and lived the high life, well as high as a fourteen year old could get…smart clothes, all the good electronic gear, music, CDs…I was having the time of my life…"

"But then?" Peter prompted when Neal appeared lost in his memories.

"But then, like all good things, it came crashing down - with one hell of an enormous thud mind you…. About a year after I started….doing my thing, I was hired by a new crew, hadn't worked with them before – this incident taught me a lot about sticking with who you know, anyway, they had me break into a private club in Queens to steal an ancient Roman statue. I didn't know at the time but the statue was symbolic to the owners in that whoever held possession of it, held authority over a string of clan members. Seems the crew that hired me forgot to mention the guy I was about to steal from was the crazed lunatic head of some obscure separatist mob family. It was all very complicated, particularly for a fifteen year old, but anyway, I got in, snatched the statue which seemed all very cut and dry but on my way out, I tripped an alarm…scared the crap out of me so much so that I dropped the statue, shattering it into a million tiny fragments of ancient porcelain. I froze, just for a second, but a dozen angry hired thugs chasing me with guns soon had me on the run. I managed to squeeze through the metal bars of the outdoor foyer, essentially trapping my pursuers out of arm's reach. ….Unfortunately the bars were no protection from the guns they raised and aimed at my head. I shut my eyes thinking about what it was going to feel like to die when some booming voice, reverberated through the ruckus.

'Aspettare!'

An ancient looking dinosaur came into view wearing a suit that was worth more than the house in lived in and gave orders in a very thick Italian accent to the effect of, 'Don't shoot the boy.' I sighed with relief, although, it was probably more along the lines of wanting to pee my pants with relief, but whichever, the relief was short lived. The old guy announced he didn't want me dead because there'd be no fun in that. Turns out he wanted me alive so he could listen to me scream as he chopped my fingers off, one by one. I spun on my heels and bolted. I ran like I'd never run before. I could hear them coming after me but I had far more motivation than they did. I ran and ran and ran some more. I didn't stop till I'd made it to the edge of the city… and then I collapsed.

After an hour or two I got back up and began walking, away from the city. I had to get out. Had to get away fast. These guys had connections and knew people; it wouldn't take long to track me down so I walked into the next service center at the entrance to the interstate and talked some guy into giving me a lift, anywhere, as far away from the city as I could get, as fast as humanly possible. So…" Neal's gaze shifted to a place that was no longer in the room, "I climbed into his pick-up oblivious to the fact that there were far worse things in life than having to watch someone chop your fingers off."


	18. Chapter 18

* 15 Years Earlier *

As the rusty old, gun-metal grey pick-up cruised along the interstate, the warmth of the interior, the soft vibrations of the wheels coasting atop the wet asphalt, and the utter exhaustion from having run for his life, lulled young Neal Caffrey into a deep sleep. He awoke sometime later to the harsh sounds of the pick-up travelling along a gravel road. With great difficulty, he forced open his heavy eyelids and surveyed the surrounds. They were travelling through a thickly wooded area with no sign whatsoever of development in any direction. Perhaps they were taking some kind of back road short cut.

Neal cleared his throat and asked lethargically, "Where we headed?"

The driver, a well-built male in his late thirties, with shoulder length dark brown hair and a three-day growth, didn't take his eye off the road as he grunted "Away from the city, as per your request."

"Yeah…" Neal rubbed at his eyes and focused on his surrounds, unable to make out any landmarks - nothing but trees, grass, gravel and dirt as far as the eye could see…. "But I didn't mean away from civilization, I just meant I wanted to get out of NYC."

"Well, you didn't specify, so this is what you got."

"Great!" Neal slumped with frustration in his seat. "Any chance you'll drive me back to the interstate so I can hitch a ride from there?"

The driver shook his head and casually lit up a smoke.

"Fine!" Neal reached for the door handle as he prepared himself to climb out and begin what he assumed was one hell of a hike back to the main road. "Just let me out here. I'll walk back. Thanks for the lift." Neal waited a moment with his fingers on the door handle but the pickup did not slow down. The older male slouched back in his seat, cigarette in one hand, steering wheel in the other. "Hey! I said thanks for the lift," Neal's irritation was growing. "You can just let me off here."

"No can do. The wild animals would eat you alive before you made it a mile into your trek."

"You know," Neal had reached his limits, "I don't really care, they can eat me, I'll take my chance just fricken stop the damn car and let me out before I just jump out anyway!"

The driver laughed but made no move to slow down.

"Unreal!" Neal pulled on the door handle angrily and pushed – at this point he could care less if he tumbled onto the gravel road at full speed, he was annoyed at himself for being unlucky enough to pick the one crazed lunatic at the gas station willing to offer him a lift. He really was a bad judge of character! He yanked the handle hard but…nothing, the door wouldn't budge. "You got some kind of child lock on this?"

"Are you a child?"

"No!"

"Then it's not a child lock, it's just a lock."

A slight shiver travelled up the young boy's spine. For the first time since climbing into the pick-up, Neal began to realize he might have unwittingly dropped himself into a more dangerous situation than he'd narrowly escaped from in the city. "Uh…Look mister, I appreciate you giving me a lift this far, but would you please pull over and let me out, I don't want to go any further."

"Too late."

"Too late for what?"

"Too late to go back. There's no going back now."

"Why?" Neal began to panic. In the fight or flight response scenario, Neal sat squarely in the later. His survival instinct in these situations was to take off, hotfoot it the hell out, fly the coop, whatever it took, not stay and fight. Fighting was definitely not his thing. He glanced over and studied the driver. The guy was all muscle; his biceps were bulging out from under his tight fitting short sleeve shirt. And who wore short sleeves in this weather anyway? Another clue that the guy was nuts that Neal had missed at the service center. Neal didn't consider for a second he could take on the larger man. Hell, the guy could probably crush someone Neal's size by just bumping into them. Neal crumbled in his seat, resigned to the fact that he was at this guy's mercy. "Why can't I go back?"

"Because I have a job for you."

"A job?" Neal doubted there were any wealthy socialite's homes to break into in these desolate woods.

"Yeah, I hadn't thought about it till I meet you at the service center," the guy turned his head and looked Neal over with his eyes, "but you're perfect."

Neal swallowed hard. All the time living on the streets had taught him the reality of what misfortune a young man with his physique could get into with the wrong crowd. He had learned to avoid areas which were more prone to that type of life-style and would be mindful not to travel into places where he would be placed into such a perilous predicament…. And now, after being ever so careful in the city, he'd actually climbed willingly into a vehicle, even talked the guy into taking him home. He felt like throwing up. "W-what are you g-going to do to me?"

The driver laughed, "You'll see soon enough, and in the meantime," he reached into the glove compartment, revealing a handgun and a scattered selection of bullets, "here's a welcome gift." The guy pulled out a dog-eared copy of a well-worn book. He passed it over to Neal. "Read this, and read it fast, it's going to be your new survival guide."

Neal took the book with shaky hands and wiped the dust and grime off the front cover before reading out loud, "The American Sign Language Phrase Book….I don't understand, you want me to read this?"

"No kid, I want you to learn it. If you can't learn it in the next couple of days then you're really not perfect after all and I'll…" the guy shrugged, "I'll really have no use for you."

Neal was an intelligent boy and the driver's implied meaning was not lost on him. If he couldn't learn ASL in the next day or two he was as good as dead. He wiped his sweaty palms across the material of his pants and opened to the first page. There was a series of diagrams showing how to sign, 'Yes'. Neal followed the prompts, lifted his hand, balled it into a fist and shook it up and down.

"Yes." The driver laughed, "I knew you'd be perfect."

###

*Present Day*

"He said I was perfect," Neal whispered as he dropped his head and wiped a weary hand across his forehead.

"Neal, do you need to take a break?" Peter placed a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. He was becoming more alarmed as the tale continued as to the fate of young Neal at the hands of the creep who'd offered to give him a lift.

"No, I'm good." Neal's lifted his head and forced a smile for the sake of his friends. "Turns out I was a fast learner, cause look, I'm still here."

"Oh sweetie," El patted the boy on his knee, "and aren't we all so thankful for that."

Neal shrugged at first but when Peter cleared his throat and gave him a pointed stare he responded more positively, "Yes, ma'am, we are."

"Where did he take you, sweetie?"

"Some isolated cottage in the woods, middle of nowhere, far from anything. He dragged me out of the vehicle, practically carried me because my legs were being extremely uncooperative, and pulled me into the house while I was clutching the ASL book like it was a lifeline to my survival. He released me as soon as we were inside and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. There was a small window but because of the foliage outside - the cottage itself seemed to be blanketed in a canopy of trees, there was very little natural light filtering into the room. I squinted and blinked and then…I saw her…"

Neal studied his lap in silence for ages, eventually prompting El to ask, "Who?"

"She was…she was beautiful - long straight dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, deep olive skin and the most adorable dimples imaginable when she smiled. I'd never seen a girl so… beautiful. She was mesmerizing. I stood in a trance…It was…"

"It was love at first sight?" Peter guessed.

"No, I was still too traumatised about what was about to happen to me to fall in love there and then, but," Neal smiled sadly, "you know, another time, another place and it would have been a different story."

###

The young girl smiled brightly as her father and his companion came in through the door. Her eyes sparkled as the older man signed a string of words then moved away to pour himself a drink. The young girl studied the new arrival just as he was studying her. She looked him up and down and had to refrain from reaching out and touching his soft wavy dark hair or stroking the side of his tender finely featured face. He had the most brilliant blue eyes she ever thought possible. She lifted her hand up to her forehead and pulled it away.

Neal recognised the sign as being one of the first in his book and he returned the greeting. _Hello._ "Listen, I need-"

The young girl dropped her smile and brought her hand up, snapping her two fingers together with her thumb.

_No._ Neal had also learnt that sign on the first couple of pages. Neal returned the, 'No,' before lifting both hands, palms up, expressing puzzlement on his face. _What?_

The girl made a zipper motion across her lips. _No talking._

###

"No talking?"

"Yeah, the daughter apparently couldn't speak therefore…"

"No one was allowed to?"

"Correct. Apparently Dad had gone through some kind of a mental breakdown after his wife died. Jenny had been a toddler at the time, and he couldn't handle it. He packed them up, left the city and made a new home away from everything. One of the things he had an issue with was sound. He liked quiet. He could handle everything better when it was quiet, and out there, everything was quiet. There was no noise, excepting for the rustling of the trees, the chirping of the birds and at night, the scary wild animal sounds. I think over the years he got used to no one talking. Because his daughter was deaf, signing became their fundamental means of communication. I conformed super-fast and learnt ASL in record time. I didn't want to give Dad an excuse not to need me anymore; the guy was clearly a loose cannon."

"Why were you there, I mean, what did he want with you?"

"At this point Peter, I hadn't a clue. I didn't even know the girl's name. I was fumbling in the dark."

###

"Hey," Neal whispered, keeping his voice low so 'Dad' wouldn't hear. "Why am I here? What does that guy want with me?"

The young girl continued buttering the sandwich she was preparing for her guest, not giving any acknowledgment to Neal's query.

"She can't hear you boy."

Neal spun towards the menacing voice of the older man who was sitting in an overstuffed armchair beside the one window in the room, sipping from his bourbon glass.

"Jenny's deaf. Now she has already warned you about talking, if I have to remind you again I'm sure I can find some hungry animal out back that's in need of a good feed."

Jenny. The girl was Jenny. The pretty girl making him a sandwich was called Jenny. If he hadn't been terrified beyond belief he would have told her what a sweet name he considered that to be but as the old man in the recliner had just issued a rather alarming caution regarding speaking, he kept those thoughts to himself and played out the first round, making note of any and every possible opportunity that would assist in his escape bid later tonight.

###

"Jenny?" El inquired while readjusting herself on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah," Neal sighed.

"How old was Jenny?"

"My age."

"And you got away, Sweetie, that first night?"

Neal had climbed off the chair while talking and was now leaning against the dresser, swirling the stone cold coffee in its mug, careful not to spill any over the edge. "Nope. But I tried."

Peter pushed himself off the bed, also to stretch his legs. "You waited till they were asleep and you picked the lock?"

"Yeah. You know me, nothing if not predictable?" Neal shook his head at the rhetorical question. "It seemed easy enough to pick the lock. Of course, I should have known better."


	19. Chapter 19

Young Neal climbed out from under the blankets Jenny had so kindly stacked over the top of him when he had first laid down on the rug designated to be his bed. The room was pitch black. No light source from any direction. He couldn't even see his fingers as he held them up to his nose. The house had become dark as soon as the sun had gone down and soon after Neal had been shown his corner of the room where his makeshift bed was placed. The young man thought it was ridiculously early to be calling it a night but as soon as the fire was extinguished he realised why. There would be nothing to do if you were unable to see. In any case, it suited his intent and purposes. The earlier everyone went to sleep the better. Neal crawled across the floor in the direction, he hoped, of the exit. He had made a mental map in his mind earlier in the evening. Taking his time, he eventually made it to the solid pine door and climbed up until he reached the lock. He pulled a piece of wire from the under sole of his sneakers and twisted it to shape, feeding it through the lock. Within seconds he heard a click, way too loud for this soundless cabin but he didn't hear or notice movement from the direction of where the others were sleeping so he continued. With extreme caution he pulled open the door just enough to squeeze through, and stepped out into to the blistering cold night, wishing he had been thoughtful enough to bring along at least one of the fifty blankets Jenny had smothered him with. After accepting he wasn't turning back for anything, Neal stepped in the direction of the gravel path leading away from the house. As he took a couple of paces away from the door, pushing away the vines hanging in his path, he soon found himself in a clearing. It was as black as the ace of spades but after a moment his eyes adjusted and he could make out that all shrubbery and trees about a few feet out from the house had been cleared in a large section that swept in both directions. Neal considered it had been cultivated like that so Jenny could ride her bike around the outside of the house without running into a tree or-

Neal crashed to the ground and a number of great monster like animals pounced on his body. They were barking and howling and snapping their dangerously sharp teeth right up against his face. The young boy held his hands up to his head to protect himself, only to discover the skin of his forearms shredded like tissue paper with each swipe of the dogs' claws.

"HEEL!"

Neal's head was spinning out of control and he took a moment to realise the hounds had retreated and had mercifully backed away several feet but remained standing fiercely, panting through their fangs, ready to resume the attack as soon as the signal was given. The kid rolled over onto his side, trying not to whimper too loudly at the pain emanating from the scratches up and down each arm.

"Boy!"

Neal lifted his head and looked back towards the door. Dad was standing in the doorway, holding a flashlight, illuminating a path back to the house.

"You coming in or staying out? Choice is yours but in ten seconds I'm locking this door. All the cold air is escaping. Nine…Eight…Seven…"

Neal pushed himself to his feet and ran to the safety of the house, throwing himself inside as the guy reached 'one.'

The older man chuckled, switched off his flashlight and presumably headed back to bed. Neal couldn't tell exactly because he couldn't see a damn thing. With no idea which direction to head, he collapsed on the floor where he stood and while trying to ignore the searing pain radiating from the cuts all over his arms, he drifted off into a restless sleep.

###

Neal sipped at his steaming hot herbal tea that Elizabeth had brought up, along with some crackers and cheese. The warm liquid running down the back of his throat felt soothing and restful. He relaxed in his chair while thinking, the next time Peter hopped up, he would steal his spot. He lifted the cup to his lips once more and smiled. "Boy this tea sure tastes great El!"

Peter and Elizabeth laughed, happy to see their kid's spirits finally lifting.

"Ahhh, good boy," El pandered.

"Yeah, good boy!" Peter mimicked. "Now get some cheese and crackers into you before you begin to fade away again."

Neal grinned as he reached out for some food, "Okay, okay, no need to wave a stick."

"So sweetie, your arms…" El glanced at the kid's forearm before lifting her eyes to meet Neal's. "After the dogs attacked you…were you okay?"

"Yeah, the next morning Jenny washed out all the cuts and bathed them in a salty solution. She wrapped bandages around each arm and…" Neal held up his bandaged wrist, "the cuts didn't take long at all to heal. Good as new."

"And what about Jenny's dad? Did he say anything more about you trying to escape?"

"Nope, it was like he wasn't at all concerned, like he knew they'd be no chance of me getting away so it didn't bother him one bit. He took off after breakfast and we didn't see him again until dinner time."

"Why didn't you leave while he was out sweetie?"

"Cause of the dogs mostly, but…I did try anyway. Didn't get very far. Jenny's dad had locked the door from the outside with a couple of large barrel bolts secured with a padlock. I wouldn't have been able to get out even with the skill set I have now, let alone as a fifteen year old."

"And the window?"

"The whole house was a fortress. The windows had burglar bars welded into the frame of the house. The walls were hard wood, six inches thick. The floor was concrete covered with ceramic tiles and even the fire place had a security grill at the top – don't worry, I tried everything."

"So Jenny's dad wasn't much in the way of fire conscious. Wasn't concerned maybe there'd be a fire during the day while he was out and you two would be effectively trapped inside?"

Neal shrugged, "I guess it was the lesser of two evils where he was concerned. Each day Dad would go out, he'd lock us in."

"Then what would you and Jenny do all day?"

"Not much…Jenny would make stuff – knit blankets, bake bread, read books. I'd pace around the cottage like a caged animal at the zoo and look into every nook and cranny for an escape opportunity. I'd kick at walls, I'd loosen tiles, I'd chip away at the door with the fire stoker."

"What did Jenny say?"

"Jenny didn't say anything. Jenny couldn't talk. But we chatted lots. At first I wrote messages on paper for Jenny but I soon found it more efficient just to sign. I'm a fast learner and within a couple of weeks I was signing competently." Neal lifted his hands and formed a number of words with his fingers.

Peter raised his eyebrows at El for a translation.

"He said, 'We learn best when our learning has purpose.'"

###

_Jenny._ Neal signed. _I need to get out._

_Why?_

_Because I'm trapped here__;__ I'm a prisoner and I want to leave. I don't want to be here anymore._

_But I don't want you to go._

_I don't understand why I am here. Your dad hasn't told me and I want to get out before that happens. I feel like I'm Hansel being fattened up before the big bad witch eats me._

_My dad's not a witch._

_You __could have __fooled__ me._

_He cares about me. That's why he brought you here. To keep me company._

_That's it? That's why I've been imprisoned here against my will to be your….your play thing?_

_Don't be mad Neal. His intentions were good. He cares about me and he didn't want me being alone. I told him how empty the place was while he was out. I guess he just…._

_Found a way to help fill it? Not a very good solution Jenny. When you grow tired of me are you going to have him toss me to the wolves so he can run out to get you a new toy?_

_No Neal. I wouldn't do that. I enjoy having you here._

_Well I don't enjoy being here. I want to leave._

_You can't leave Neal__; even__ if you wanted to. But don't worry. You'll start to enjoy it eventually._

_If I don't throw myself to the wolves in the meantime!_

###

"Each day that passed, I became more accepting of my 'imprisonment'. Don't get me wrong, I continued to wrack my brain each and every moment for an appropriate escape scenario but at the same time, I found myself slotting in comfortably to my new role as live-in-companion. Jenny and I… we became very close. She was right; I did start to enjoy spending time with her. I loved her smile, I loved the stories she would tell me, and I loved helping her cook. Dad would go out hunting and bring home food that we'd cook over the open fire. We played cards and board games, Jenny was awesome at chess – in all the time I lived there I never beat her once. I loved the way she touched my hand, the way she pressed her soft fingers onto my cheeks, I loved the way her lips felt when they brushed against mine. For the first time in my life, I loved someone. I…I loved her with all my being. My heart ached at the thought of not being near her. It got to the stage where I'd be longing for Jenny's dad to leave so I could feel her hands on mine once more."

"So you hid your feelings for Jenny from her father?"

"No, not really. It wasn't a secret. He knew I was falling for his daughter. It was plain as day. I kept a 'hand's off' policy while he was around, just in case. I wasn't sure how he'd react, Jenny being his whole life and all."

"I don't have a daughter but I can safely assure you that was probably a very wise decision."

Neal smiled while remembering. "Yeah Peter, but you know what they say about best laid plans."

"What did you do?" Peter asked with the experience of a man who knew his partner better than he did himself.

Neal rested his elbows on the back of the chair and propped his chin on his hands. At some point he had spun the chair around so he could lean on the backrest. "Jenny and I…did I tell you we were the same age?"

"Yes, sweetie. Both fifteen?"

"Yes, well fifteen, turning sixteen. Anyway, one morning as Dad was leaving he signed 'Happy birthday, baby girl.' After he left, I asked Jenny what the date was. I guess at that point I'd been living there a couple of months and I'd lost all track of the days since my arrival. I couldn't believe it when Jenny told me it was the eighth of March."

"Your birthday?"

"Awww, Peter. You remembered. I'm touched."

"It's hard to forget Neal when you always drag me out for lunch to the most expensive restaurant in the city and make me pay."

"They're not the most expensive Peter, the most expensive-"

"Neal," Elizabeth cut in before they all got off track, "you and Jenny had the same birthday? I bet that came as quite a surprise."

"Yes, but it gets better. Turns out we were born on the same morning in the same hospital. Possibly even laid beside each other in the nursery. She would have been my first friend and now, sixteen years later, fate would bring us together again. She was…" Neal stopped talking for a moment and sat wistfully while remembering… "Jenny was my soul mate. We were meant to be together. We were meant to be together forever."

El glanced at Peter, concerned with the direction this tale was taking. Her husband shrugged, unsure of how to respond. El turned back to the younger man, "Sweetie did you and Jenny do something special to celebrate your birthday? Bake a cake, give each other presents…"

"Yes, we did have a cake later in the evening that I baked for Jenny and Jenny did give me one of the scarves she had knitted but earlier in the day, " Neal blushed, "after I found out we had the same birthday, and we were alone in the house, well, you can probably connect the dots as to how my sixteen year old self suggested we celebrate."

Peter snorted, "Yes all too well, my young friend. An image I don't need swirling in my head as I try to sleep at night and something I'd rather you didn't speak of, particularly in front of my wife."

"Speak for yourself, Peter." El slapped him playfully on his knee before addressing Neal. "I'm not as innocent as my husband would have you believe. I'm sure it was all very loving. Please continue."

Neal smiled, "Yes, it was very loving. My first time actually. We got very caught up in each other and well, let's just say we were too busy to hear the pick-up returning along the gravel driveway or Dad unlocking the bolts on the front door. Before we knew it, Jenny's dad was standing over us, holding a large decorated gift box for his daughter while we were desperately scrambling for a sheet or blanket to cover ourselves."

"Oh my!" El covered her mouth, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

Peter merely shook his head, thinking it was such a Caffrey thing to be caught red handed while sleeping with a beautiful young girl. "Let me guess, Jenny's dad went ballistic and threw you about the room, nine ways to Sunday?"

"No," Neal was back on his feet, pacing the small amount of space the room allowed. "No Peter, he didn't; quite the opposite in fact. He placed the present on the table, picked up his keys and as he was leaving, he turned and smiled."

"Really?"

"Yep. Didn't say a word. Not then, not ever."

"You were let off the hook?"

"Yes, and believe me, it freaked me out no end."

"You would have rather he be upset with you?" El couldn't work out why.

"Yes I would have."

"Why?"

"Because at that point, I finally realised what I was perfect for. My job description had become crystal clear. I wasn't just a companion for Jenny…I'd been brought home to be Jenny's partner. I wasn't being fattened up to eat, I was been groomed to be Jenny's husband. Hell, I imagine, Jenny's dad was probably expecting grand-kiddies somewhere along the line. At that point, that day, I vowed to get out at all cost before I became trapped forever. Of course, I fully intended on taking Jenny with me. That part was a no-brainer."

"And how did that work out for you?"

"It didn't."


	20. Chapter 20

Young Neal Caffrey stood guard, looking out the window of the cottage keeping his eye out for the return of the pick-up. Jenny was using the meat tenderizer to mash sleeping pills they'd found earlier into a powder. During the past couple of days, the kids had worked together on an escape plan – one they were both agreeable to. All the suggestions Neal had put forward about drugging Dad, tying him up, holding him back at gunpoint were negated by Jenny. She was already uncertain about leaving her dad and was adamant she didn't want to depart with the knowledge they may have harmed him in some way through their escape efforts. So after hours of debate, they'd decided on waiting until Dad was asleep before sneaking out which left only the number one reason Neal had not attempted to escape sooner - the dogs! After serious consideration, Jenny remembered her dad had some sleeping pills that he rarely used and after pulling the cottage apart for a day and half, they were discovered at the back of a drawer behind a whole heap of useless trinkets and junk. Once the pills were located, their escape strategy was in play. Jenny would mix the powdered pills into the food her dad had prepared for the dogs. Every night before extinguishing the fire, Dad would toss meat out to the hounds that were lurking expectantly, just behind the bushes. Neal knew it was a sure fire way the older man had concocted over time to protect the property from unwanted intruders and of more pertinence, to prevent anyone leaving the cottage who may be so inclined.

Jenny placed the meat back in the fridge, cleaned up the evidence and turned to her companion with a sorrowful expression. Neal knew how difficult this was for the young girl. It was a long time for someone to live without any connection whatsoever to the outside world. Neal found himself having to do some serious sweet-talking to get the girl to even entertain the idea of leaving Dad, her home, and the only life she had ever known. In the end, he had promised that if she didn't like what she saw, he would bring her back. Being a person of honourable intentions, even at the tender age of sixteen; Neal vowed he would stick by that promise. Of course that meant, once back out in the real world, he would have to do a flawless job of talking Jenny into accepting a life beyond the cottage walls. It wasn't difficult to imagine what dad would do to him after taking off with his only daughter so he accepted he'd have to do everything in his power to make sure that never happened.

Neal took the dishcloth out of the young girl's hand and wrapped her in a hug. Soon it would all be over. They'd be free from their prison and they'd start a new life together, perhaps down in Florida where they wouldn't need fifty blankets to keep warm at night.

Jenny pushed back and signed, _I'm scared Neal. Dad said it's a terrifying place and I don't know if I'm going to be okay in such a scary environment. _The young girl was having serious second thoughts.

Neal brushed a stray hair away from his friend's face before signing, _Jenny. This is a scary place. Here. This house. Yes, I'll admit there are terrifying things beyond these walls__;__ the vicious dogs that savaged my arms are but the beginning, but Jenny, there are __magnificent and__ wondrous experiences to be had, places I want to show you, beauty I want you to touch. I won't go without you Jenny and I promise to take care of you_.

Jenny released a deep breath and turned back to the kitchen bench, deliberately not looking in the direction of her friend while she considered his words. While thinking, she pulled over the basket of potatoes and retrieved the paring knife out of the top drawer to begin dinner. Neal stepped over and checked out the window once more, before turning back. A horrified expression crossed his face as he noticed that Jenny was piercing the paring knife across the palm of her hand, leaving a fine trail of crimson in its path.

"Jenny!" Neal shouted, momentarily forgetting that the young girl could not hear him, no matter how loud he shouted. "What are you doing?"

Jenny stared up with her mesmerizing chocolate brown eyes and smiled before forming a string of words with her fingers. _I'm coming with you Neal, but first I want you to make a blood bond with me so we won't ever be apart. I feel like we were meant to be together. Fate has brought you here to lead me along a different path. It's no coincidence we were born on the same day in the same place and now we are back together once more. I believe we were meant to be together. You and I, we're kindred spirits and I trust you to make the best choice for both of us. Having said that, I don't know what's going to happen when I go out there, but if we do this then I'll know that no matter what happens, you'll be with me._ Jenny held her palm upright, causing little droplets of blood to trickle down her arm.

Neal cringed. He really hatted the sight of blood, and the thought of cutting himself…well, the mere concept sent a shiver up his spine. He considered his options. _Crap!_ Jenny was taking a huge leap for him; he could suck it up and do something for her. He picked up the knife and without giving it too much thought, least he talk himself out of it, he ran the stainless steel blade across his palm, applying enough pressure to slice though the layers of skin and release a thin line of blood. It hurt far more than he had expected and he had to work hard to resist the urge to run straight to the bathroom and wash out his wound with cool, soothing water. Instead, he reached out and took Jenny's hand in his and pressed them together for the longest time. Eventually, long after the blood surrounding his cut had become warm and tacky, he pulled back his hand and signed, _I promise Jenny. We will never be apart._

The young girl smiled and wrapped her arms around Neal's waist, squeezing tight. Neal dropped his head onto Jenny's shoulder and pressed his nose into her hair while closing his eyes, thinking how much he'd love to stay in this moment forever.

####

Peter wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder as she cradled her head against his chest, trying desperately to refrain from releasing a single tear, lest there be a deluge once she started. Neal sat opposite, cradling his head in his arms that were resting on his lap. He'd been in that same bent over position for a good ten minutes, ever since he had stopped talking. Peter was about to make a move, fearing the kid was going to give himself a cramp in his back, when Neal, in one swift movement lifted his head, sprang to his feet and made for the door.

"Neal?" Peter called out as the boy darted from the room.

"I'm…I just need some fresh air!"

Peter and El listened as the footsteps trailed down the stairs and out the front door.

"Shouldn't you go after him?" El asked with concern.

"Maybe," Peter shrugged, clearly out of his element, "but I don't think he'll go too far so…uh, I'll just, I think a walk might be good for him…but I'll just go check to see how far he goes, just in case." Peter untangled himself from his wife and darted from the room with the same expediency his young charge had used. However, by the time the agent had reached the front door, he was probably travelling with twice the urgency. He yanked open the door and…and tumbled down the three steps onto the grass below.

"Far out Neal!" Peter grumbled after he brushed off the dirt, grass and leaves he had collected during his uncomfortable journey down the stairs, "You couldn't have maybe picked a less hazardous spot to sit!"

Neal had walked out the front door and immediately planted himself on the top step, instantly sorry that he'd left the security of the house. His back was up against the railing but his legs were stretched out across the top tread and before he'd even had a chance to take in a single breath of fresh air, Peter had come barreling past, tripping over his legs and falling over himself as he tumbled down the stairs.

Neal almost laughed. Almost. It was a funny sight. Particularly when Peter, in typical Peter fashion, blamed him for the misadventure. "You've got to watch that top step Peter; it can be quite perilous at times."

Peter pushed himself up to his feet and glared at his young charge momentarily before softening his expression as soon as he remembered why the kid had bolted from the house in the first place. "You okay, buddy?"

Neal shrugged, also recalling why he'd left in such a hurry. All levity from seconds before faded fast for both men. "I just needed some air."

"That's fine. Would you like me to grab our coats and take Satchmo for a walk?"

"No, but thank you anyway. I'd rather just sit here."

"Sure, no problem. Would you like me to grab your coat?" It was cold out.

"No thanks. I'm good."

"Okay then." Peter stepped back towards the house without thinking before coming to his senses and stopping to serve his young charge a fatherly scowl. The kid was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and the midday air was frigid to say the least. He shook his head as he stepped over the kid, grabbed a coat from inside and tossed it over Neal's head.

Neal pulled the coat away from his face, "I don't-"

"Put. It. On!" Peter stabbed a stern finger at the boy.

"Ah, yes, I was just about to do just that." Neal fumbled to get his arms in quickly.

"Sure you were," Peter threw over his shoulder as he headed back inside to warm the chill that had settled in his own bones – a chill that was in no way related to the outside temperature.

###

The weary agent propped himself up on his elbow as he sat depleted of all energy after one hell of a morning. He hadn't known what his young friend had gone through all those years back, hadn't known he'd already suffered through so much by the time he came onto the agents radar. Had he known, would it have made a difference? Would he have been more lenient in his pursuit of the young con? Would he have been more forgiving and supportive when testifying at his trial? The kid had essentially 'done his time' already - locked up under the watchfully eye of a crazed father with a frightening agenda. Peter sighed deeply accepting he'd never know the answer to his question. Too late now to change the past. What's done was done.

"Honey!" El shook her husband's shoulder from across the table.

"Uh!" Peter startled, "I'm sorry hon?"

El smiled sympathetically and spoke with understanding. "Peter, I asked you three times if you wanted another cuppa but you were in another world."

_Or another time._ "Sorry hon." Peter shook his head to snap himself out of his misery. "I was thinking about Neal. You know, I always knew he had a troubled past, but this," Peter waved his hand in the direction of the porch, "El he was only sixteen and in effect, imprisoned for what, how many months? Can we really blame the kid for all the screw up stuff he does now? I should have done something."

"Like what?" El reached out and took her husband's hand, "Hon, it's okay to think about those things. You wouldn't be the person I fell in love with if you didn't. But you can't go blaming yourself for something that happened before you even knew Neal or for something you had no knowledge of," El smiled knowingly, "even though you're probably going to try your level best to land the blame directly on your shoulders."

"Maybe, I just wish…" _what was the point of saying it out loud._

"Things had been different?"

"Yeah."

"And how many times have I heard you say that during the past couple of years… 'If only someone had been around to offer guidance' … 'If only I'd caught up with the kid earlier'… 'If only Neal had been my son'… 'if-"

"Point taken."

El squeezed her husband's hand, "And every time you bring it up, what do I always tell you mister?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "That you can't change the past but you can make a difference with everything that comes after it."

"And you have. That boy out there, he'd be back in prison if it weren't for you. You've worked your butt off keeping him on the straight and narrow and despite the both of you being in complete denial, he loves you for it. He loves the security you offer, he loves you caring for him and …he loves you like a son loves a father. And you-"

"Love him like a son?"

"Hmmm," El grinned, "perhaps I was wrong. It's only partial denial."

"So what next, ever so knowledgeable one?"

"Now…you carry on, cowboy up and be the tower of strength Neal needs you to be," El paused, waiting for her man to get himself in gear but he remained slumped in his chair. "Peter…"

"Yeah?"

"That means go out and get the boy before he turns into an icicle," El indicated the lunch selection that had gone untouched since she'd placed it on the table more than half an hour before, "and perhaps I can twist someone's arm into having at least one of these sandwiches."

"Maybe you should get him El." Peter continued with an explanation after a quizzical glare from his wife – so much for the tower of strength. "Honestly, I don't know how I'll react when he tells me he's not hungry."

"Oh, fair enough." El climbed off the chair and kissed her husband on the cheek. "The poor boy's barely eaten anything all morning, he must be starving."

As his wife left the room Peter scratched at his earlobe absentmindedly and mumbled sarcastically, "You'd think so wouldn't you."

"Sweetie," El called from the doorway, "come in out of the cold and have some lunch with us."

"Uh…no thank you Elizabeth. I'm fine."

"Sweetie, it's too cold out to be sitting on the steps, come in and sit by the fire and I'll get you a warm drink and something to eat."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather just sit here."

El moved closer till she was standing over the young man. "Neal, you need to eat, you need to warm up. Come in the house please."

"I'm not hun- Owww!" Neal winced as he moved himself into gear quick smart in order to follow his ear which was being dragged back into the house.

Once inside, El turned to the boy but retained her hold on said ear, "I'm sorry Neal, but it must have been the frost in the air affecting my hearing. I could have sworn you were about to say 'I'm not hungry,' but seeing as how you are not allowed to use those three words in the same sentence anymore, I'll assume I misunderstood. So, let's try again shall we?" El released the boy. "Lunch is ready Neal."

"Sorry Elizabeth," Neal rubbed some circulation back into his ear. "It must have been the wind rustling the trees, you may have misheard me. I was saying I'm not hurrying…not _hurrying_ up those stairs, that top one is deadly."

El gave a satisfied smile, "Good boy. Now eat your lunch."

Lunch was a somber affair. Peter nibbled at his sandwich while contemplating what he would have done differently had he been in possession of the knowledge he had now. His young partner had been through so much already, should he be punished further by serving out yet another four year sentence under his supervision? It was no wonder the young con had broken out of prison for Kate. The kid was seriously screwed up in the emotional bonding department. Plus, there was the fact that Neal had admitted to killing someone, a topic that was yet to be brought up again. At this stage it looked like the victim could be 'Dad' and besides, what was it with Neal referring to him in that manner? It sounded odd. Didn't the guy have a name? Peter hoped it was 'Dad' Neal had killed. Not that he wanted to hear that the boy had ever killed anyone but it would be an easy out for the young con if that's all there was to it. No subsequent hearing would find Neal at fault after being taken against his will and held prisoner for such a long time. His defense could claim a multitude of acceptable arguments including psychological scaring and/or self-preservation. Peter thought that he should probably take into consideration the fact that there may have been an unknown person yet to be mentioned in this horrid tale. Then again, the agent didn't even want to go down that track. Peter bit down on his sandwich as he looked across at his wife, wondering how she was managing to remain sane with all of this.

El pushed aside her plate, her sandwich mostly left untouched. The raw emotions from this morning's events were pressing with unyielding power on her thoughts. She had mixed feelings about Neal's opening up to her and Peter. Admittedly, the boy needed to get it of his chest. Fifteen years was a long time for anyone to harbour that type of secret without someone to confide in. And what of Jenny? Even had they not escaped together, why hadn't Neal conjured up a way to keep in touch? At some point evidently, he had to have lost touch with the young girl, otherwise it would have been unlikely he'd gone after Kate in such an obsessive way. A part of El's brain, a selfish little corner that rarely reared its ugly head was wishing Neal had never been taken by Franklin Holmes purely for the fact that he wouldn't have started relieving this horrific incident from his past. Peter would still be in the dark and by default; she'd have no knowledge of this dreadful chain of events. Ignorance was bliss and right now, as she looked across into the hopelessly downtrodden eyes of their young friend, she thought how much she would treasure even a miniscule droplet of bliss.

Neal picked up yet another quarter of his sandwich and forced it down his throat. Eating was the last thing on his mind, the last thing he felt like doing but he accepted that Peter and El only had his best interests at heart, and getting some food down wasn't probably the worse idea in the world. Plus he considered, forcing down a sandwich was likely to be a lot less unpleasant than what the oldies would do to him if he spoke the forbidden words!

After swallowing his final mouthful, the young man asked between yawns, "Would either of you mind if I went up to my room to lie down for a little while. I just need some time to myself."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Peter didn't think it was. Who knew what ideas or thoughts were swirling around in his partner's head?

"Yeah, I just need to rest for a bit. I promise I won't pull any more boneheaded stunts." Neal held up his wrist so the others would know what he was referring too.

"Sure sweetie," El started collected the plates from the table, "We'll come up and check on you soon but in the meantime, just sing out if you need anything."

"Thanks Elizabeth." Neal pushed his chair in and leaned heavily on the backrest. "And Peter, I promise I'll tell you the rest of my story…I'll tell you everything."

"Whenever you're ready kiddo."

Neal dropped his head and trudged up the stairs. Unfortunately for Peter and El it would be days before their boy was ready to open up once more.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: You guys are all crazy! It never occurred to me to leave it three days before posting the next chapter (so that you could experience what Peter and El are going through), but that was a really ingenious idea some of the reviewers had! LOL BTW giving me an idea like that was akin to giving a hyperactive kid red cordial! I was so close to doing it just so I could see the reaction, but had to restrain myself after accepting that I'm likely to be skating on thin ice already after you all read the rest of the story! So, with great reluctance, here is the next chapter…I shall have to tuck that brilliant idea away for next time. ;)

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The young con spent the next three days moping around the house, mostly stretched out on his bed gazing up at the ceiling or lazing on the couch in the family room. He'd give El a hand in the kitchen if asked or help Peter with the laundry when a basket of folding was tossed in front of him. Peter and El were hesitant to bring up Jenny or the escape bid, mostly because they could barely face the reality of it themselves, almost scared to be in possession of that knowledge. They told each other the kid would open up himself when he was ready but at some point they had to face the facts – Neal would never be ready. The young man would answer questions and participate in small talk, but as each day passed, he was becoming more and more introverted and Peter was becoming increasingly worried his partner was regressing back into his shell.

"What am I going to do El?" Peter spat the toothpaste into the basin and rinsed his mouth.

Elizabeth climbed out of the shower and reached for a towel only to have Peter beat her to it. "Thanks hon. How about you just ask him?"

"I don't know, what if it backfires?"

"It might, but you have to do something before he…you know…" El didn't want to say it but they both knew anyway, before he did something stupid again.

Peter headed down the hall to say goodnight, something he did every night. At some point when Neal was better again he'd move back into June's and the older man considered he'd actually miss this part of his nightly routine. Peter strolled in and sat on the edge of the bed where his young charge was curled up under a pile of blankets. As he did on most nights, Peter placed a caring hand on the top the young man's wavy dark hair as he spoke. "Neal…I know it's incredibly hard for you to talk about it but I need you to finish your story for me tomorrow. I need to know what happened so I know how to help you better. And I also believe, once you've shared your story with me, you'll be able to think about what happened without reliving it. It should return all those unpleasant feelings to your past where they belong. They've already happened Neal, they are no longer happening. It's important that you understand that."

After a moment of contemplation, the young man lifted his fist and shook it up and down. _Yes._

Peter took his friend's hand and lowered it back to the bed. "Use your words please Neal."

"Yes Peter, I understand."

"Okay then, that's all I'm asking. Goodnight kiddo."

"Goodnight."

Peter rose from the bed and walked to the door reaching up to switch off the light, stopping himself at the last moment. He smiled back at his friend apologetically. "Old habit." The agent stepped into the hall but came to a standstill as he heard his young charge speak softly.

"Fifteen years."

Peter moved back into the room. "Excuse me kiddo, I didn't quite hear you."

"It's been fifteen years since I've slept in the dark." The young man's voice was almost a whisper.

"Is that right?" Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise as he returned to his spot on the edge of the bed. Neal shuffled over to make more room.

"Always a night light, a bathroom light, security lights in prison, a street lamp outside the window of the places I'd choose to live. Any type of illumination so that when I opened my eyes, I could see something."

"So dark places…make you nervous?"

"Something like that. I can't walk into a pitch black room without feeling terror. At times when I've been in a room and the power's gone out, my heart rate would skyrocket, I'd feel immense insecurity and I'd be able to literally feel the blood draining from head."

"Essentially a panic attack?"

"Yeah…I guess that's a fairly accurate name for it."

"Out of curiosity, how did that 'fit in' with your alleged art heists? Wouldn't you need to do certain things in the dark?"

"Yes, I'd work at night, in the dark, allegedly,"

"Of course."

"But as long as I was able to see what I was doing I was fine, a simple flashlight offered the security I needed. I just couldn't handle, I can't cope with total darkness."

"And then you were thrown into Franklin Holmes' basement where you had nothing but," Peter sighed sympathetically.

"Yeah…kind of put me in a tail spin. I totally lost control of myself and pretty much hit rock bottom. I felt nothing but hopelessness. I was travelling down a dark passage with no light at the end of the tunnel."

"But you're out now Neal."

The young man shrugged, not convinced.

"Neal…."

"I am, but she's not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I had no right to try and take her away from her dad. I changed everything."

"Didn't she agree to go with you? You didn't force her?"

"No, but I had no right. I shouldn't have talked her into it. Jenny had a life there and, I took that away from her."

"From what I've been able to gather, it wasn't much of a life." Peter placed his hand onto the boy's shoulder offering support. "What happened Neal?"

"Fifteen years ago…. It was the last time I even slept in the dark. As it was every other night of my stay, the cottage was pitch black. Dad had fed the hounds, extinguished the fire, and once again I found myself blinking into the blackened abyss stupidly believing if I did it enough times I'd eventually be able to see something." Neal gave a half-hearted chuckle as he remembered.

"Did Jenny's dad feed the animals with the meat laced with sleeping pills?"

"Yes, totally oblivious to our plans. He went to bed, we pretended to. We knew it would take a few hours for the pills to kick in with the dogs so we laid in our beds waiting. I remember lying there, on my bed looking up into nothing, wishing I could see her face. Wishing I could smile at her to reassure her everything would be okay. I knew she'd be worried. I knew she'd be having doubts. I was worried she'd lose it and do something stupid like alert her dad. Those couple of hours seemed like days."

"But eventually the hounds fell asleep?"

"Yes, we checked outside by edging open the door fractionally then standing just outside the door so we could rush back in if we needed to."

"There was no movement from the dogs?"

"We couldn't see them, we were in total darkness. No moon that night. Unlike Jenny though, I could hear. There were no tell-tale sounds of heavy breathing or rustling in the bushes so, I made the call, took Jenny's hand and guided her in the direction of the pick-up truck."

"How did you know which way to head?"

"I'd seen it parked there through the window and I guessed where it would be. Outside, it was slightly lighter than inside so once our eyes adjusted we could see something as big as the truck. We made our way over and climbed in. My heart was racing, my hands were so sweaty and nervous, the keys I found under the sun visor slipped out of my fingers and onto the floor."

"But you'd made it? Your escape plan had been successful?"

"Up to that point…yes. For those few moments, the few seconds we sat together in the truck, Jenny took a hold of my free hand and I felt overwhelming relief wash over me. I knew we weren't out of the woods, literally, but I did feel we were going to make it…" Neal dropped his head and swiped at a lone tear, "clearly I was wrong."

###

The young escapees slid quietly across the long bench seat of the pick-up, trembling nervously, sweating out their fears through the palms of their hands and shaking with relief that they had managed to make it as far as they had. Neal found the keys fairly quickly under the sun visor – he was almost surprised they weren't in the ignition. It wasn't like they'd have much trouble with auto-theft out here in the middle of nowhere. Having said that, here is was stealing said vehicle. The keys slipped out through his sweaty fingers and dropped to the floor of the truck. Neal bent down to pick them up but as he did he felt Jenny's hand squeeze his, to the point that it actually hurt. Something was wrong. Cautiously, he lifted his head…and bumped it against a solid steal bar that hadn't been there before. Only it wasn't a steel bar, but the barrel of a gun. Dad's gun. The riffle Dad kept over the mantle, the one he'd take out with him every time he left the house, the one he used to hunt the wildlife he'd occasionally slaughter to restock their food supply, the one that was now pointed at his head.

_Click._

Now Neal didn't know much about guns but he'd watched enough movies to know that particular sound didn't bode well for him. Dad had just removed the safely and even though he couldn't see in the dark, Neal could only imagine the old man's trigger finger had moved into position.

Jenny freaked out and began banging the dashboard with her fist before reaching across, perhaps to try and pull the gun from her father's hand. Neal panicked and shoved his girl back towards the passenger door, only with the intention of protecting her from the gun should it fire, but with enough force to sound rather painful as her head collided with the passenger window.

Jenny's dad saw red. Well, he saw someone hurting his little girl and nothing else. In a predictable rage, he lowered the gun and…

Neal was confused. He felt like he'd been punched in the shoulder. But how? Dad was still standing outside the truck. In the middle of reeling from the shock of the punch, his shoulder began to burn, like someone had inadvertently poured acid right on top of where he'd been hit. Perhaps there was a leaking substance somewhere in the pick-up. And why couldn't he hear? He's ear drums where ringing like he'd listened to deafening music for way too long. He was terribly confused but gave up trying to work out what was happening as an immense pain that began emanating from his shoulder took control over every part of his being.

While barely conscious, he felt himself being hauled back to the house. Jenny was runny along by his side, touching him, holding his arm, pressing her jacket against the pain in his shoulder. Neal would have told her that only made him feel worse, but he was unable to lift his arms to sign…and Jenny had never learnt to lip read.

Neal groaned as he was dropped onto the floor and watched with detached interest as Dad moved over to reignite the fire, something he'd never done before. Everything was different this night. Neal rolled about the floor moaning, the pain was unbearable and it became a whole lot worse when Jenny began to poke and prod his shoulder with her salty water and bandages. Neal wanted to scream, tried to scream but couldn't find his voice. He mentally willed Jenny to stop but she continued fussing with his shoulder, her hands and clothes painted red, only stopping long enough to allow him to empty the contents of his stomach, right across the living area rug - a bright red carpet square that had been a pastel yellow earlier in the day. Soon after throwing up, Neal had drifted off mercifully into unconsciousness, his mind unwilling to face the pain a moment longer.

When he awoke, sometime later, he honestly had no idea how long he'd been out to it, he found himself lying in his bed, an awful throbbing in his head, his shirt removed and two large plastered bandages, one on each side of his shoulder.

Ignoring the pain in his head, and an even greater one in his shoulder, he carefully pushed himself out of bed and stumbled into the living area where Jenny and her father were arguing. It was strange to watch two people argue in silence but the facial gestures alone were indicative of people screaming at each other. It took Neal a moment to catch onto what was being said but when he finally worked it out, he immediately forgot about any pain of his own.

_What were you thinking Jenny? You know you wouldn't survive for a second out there_.

_You're wrong._

_No I'm not._

_Neal was going to take care of me, we made a bond._

Dad laughed without any humour, _Jenny you are so gullible. He was only using you to get out of here. He would have ditched you the minute he hit the main road._

Tears were streaming down the young girl's face. _That's not true._

No, it's not true, Neal repeated to himself. It wasn't even close to the truth. He loved Jenny and he'd have said so, but no one had noticed him standing off to the side and he hadn't the strength to step in any further.

_You're only fooling yourself Jenny__;__ he had no intention of taking you with him._

_But he said we'd go to amazing places, see beautiful sights and touch things I'd never think possible. I was going to get a job and do something with my life._

The old man dropped himself down into his chair and shook his head, _The sooner you get it through that thick skull of yours Jenny the better. There's nothing else for you. This is it. This is all you're ever going to be so you'd better get used to it._

NO! Neal wanted to yell at the bastard, wanted to run over and kick him in the head, he wanted to hug Jenny and tell her that her father was wrong, but he couldn't do any of those things. Sadly, he'd depleted what little energy he had left and he collapsed on the floor where he stood. The last thing he remembered seeing as he lost consciousness was Jenny throwing a bottle of whiskey at her father that missed its intended target and smashed against the fireplace. Neal considered there'd be a hell of a lot of cleaning up to do in the morning as his eyelids shut that final time.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** WARNING…WARNING …WARNING! This next part is rather graphic and has our young hero dealing with death. Please skip this part if you think it may depress you or be upsetting in any way…. I do not need all of you ending up in therapy as well because of something I wrote!

###

The next time Neal woke it was daylight. The golden sunbeams of early morning were breaking through the foliage outside the window and spreading across the floor of the cottage. From his spot where he'd collapsed earlier, Neal could see undeniable evidence of the disastrous night they'd all experienced. There were shards of broken glass scattered throughout the room, some still coated in amber liquid. Tacky red splotches and pools of blood covered a substantial area of flooring. Neal moved his hand subconsciously over the bandage on his shoulder – it was no wonder he felt so weak if the state of the floor was indicative of the amount of blood he'd lost. Dad's rifle lay on the floor, not perched up above the mantle where it had always been placed so meticulously before and the old man was slumped in his chair, not sleeping off a restless night, but wide awake, eyes glazed over, a haunted look on his face Neal had not seen before.

The youngster looked around the room for Jenny but there was no sign of her. With great difficulty, he pushed himself up and …immediately dropped back down again, least he pass out from the dizziness he felt. After a minute or two, he tried again; he desperately needed water, and whatever pain medication he could scrounge up from the junk drawers around the house. He climbed to his feet and held onto the back of the armchair for support while he waited for the equilibrium imbalance and the pressure in his head to subside. It took him a moment to pull himself together but once he did, Neal's whole world came crashing down around him, one choking breath at a time.

"J…J…Jen…" It was all he could force out with the restriction he felt in his throat. His heart started racing, his mind began to spin out of control and had he anything left in the contents of his stomach, he would have thrown up with the overwhelming nausea he felt. "Jenny!" Neal finally managed to scream as he raced over and knelt by the young girl's side. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up to his chest all the while screaming and crying his eyes out, not caring about the pool of blood he was now sitting in. "Dad!" Neal turned his head and screamed at the father who had not moved from his seat, watching the whole event play out with detached interest. "Help her, please. Get something to help." Neal lifted the girl's wrist where there appeared to be a large cut but with all the blood, it was difficult to tell. "Dad! Please!" When the old man made no response, Neal began to shake the girl. "Jenny, please, don't do this! Jenny!"

"She can't hear you boy."

"I know that!" Neal screamed. _Why wasn't Dad doing anything to help?_

"She can't hear you because she's dead."

"No she's not!" Neal placed the girl carefully back down onto the floor and jumped to his feet, charging at the father with all his might. "Don't you dare say that!" Neal flung his fist at the old man's head but in his weakened state, it was easily deflected. Dad pushed him off and onto the floor like he was nothing more than an annoying insect.

Neal winced in pain but was too emotional and far too angry to see any common sense so he sprung to his feet once more and began raining punch after punch at Jenny's dad. The older man did not hit back, merely blocked the hits and when he grew tired of the game, he used both arms to fling the boy across the room where he landed in a pile of pain. Neal groaned and cried and cradled his shoulder, bracing himself tightly as the searing sensation of agony washed over his body.

When he was finally able to lift his head once more, he looked through blurry eyes at the man so detached from the world that he remained in his seat while his only child died on the floor before him.

Neal wanted to kill the guy. Never before had he felt that about anyone, even his mother's lousy boyfriends. But this man, this horrible person who had caused so much pain, deserved to die. Neal laid his eyes on his beautiful Jenny, his kindred spirit, the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with, the girl who now lay motionless in a pool of her own blood. Neal shifted his eyes up to her father, the one who'd done this to her, the one who'd taken his soul mate away from him. Neal's eyes finally come to rest on the rifle, the one that lay not more than two feet from his right arm. Months of psychological torture had severely damaged his sense of right and wrong and without even a second's doubt Neal sat up while reaching over to pick up the rifle. He pointed… and fired. It was the loudest noise that had ever been heard in the tiny cottage and it would be one of the last.

###

"Oh Neal, I'm so sorry." Peter had the younger man pulled against his chest. Tears had begun to flow once it came out that Jenny had cut her wrist with a piece of broken glass and Peter had found himself cradling the boy as he broke down while explaining the final moments in the cottage.

Neal wiped his eyes with his sleeve and pulled himself away, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

When he thought he was ready, Peter asked, "Jenny's father? He died too?"

"Yeah, I killed him," Neal whispered. "After I had fired, I got up and walked over. He had a huge gaping wound in his chest but still, his eyes were opened and he had that same haunted look in them I'd seen when I first woke up. Dad opened his mouth to say something, but… it was difficult for him. I guess his lungs were filling with blood. He was a tough guy though and he finally got his words out."

"What did he say?"

"He…he pointed to me then moved his finger to indicate Jenny. Then he said, 'You, you are responsible for what happened to her, this wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you. This is all your fault, now you are responsible for her.'… Then he shut his eyes and he never opened them again."

Peter closed his own eyes, remembering what had been written on Neal's chest by that lunatic Holmes. At some point, the kid had seen it. Perhaps it had been penned before he was tossed into the basement, which would have made sense since it was too dark to write anything in that hellhole. "Neal," Peter pulled the boy close once more, "what did you do next?" As much as he didn't want to, never wanted to, Peter needed the complete story so it wouldn't have to be brought up again. Neal needed closure and the only way to do that was to see this through to the end.

"I collapsed on the floor beside Jenny, I felt all the blood drain from my head and then I passed out. Unfortunately, when I woke up, she was still sleeping….Jenny never woke up. She never woke up, Peter."

"No buddy. It sounds like the blood loss may have been too great." Peter placed his hand careful onto Neal's injured shoulder. "Did you drive back to the highway to get help for yourself?"

Neal shook his head."I couldn't. I couldn't leave Jenny. I had promised to take her with me. I didn't know what to do so I stayed. I stayed with her for days hoping she would wake up but nothing changed. At night when I couldn't see her, I could feel her; she was cold – no matter how many blankets I threw over her she was so cold to touch. During the day, I'd watch her, waiting for something to happen but…well nothing did. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't leave her there, I couldn't stay. The darkness at night and the complete loneliness was eating away at me." Neal shut his eyes while searching his memories. "I decided to dig a hole in the ground outside – it had to be deep because of the animals and because I only had the use of one arm, it took me days to dig it deep enough. I kept the dogs at bay by tossing them meat, plus I took Dad's gun out with me just in case…Then I wrapped Jenny in one of her beautiful blankets, one that she had made herself, and I placed her in the ground. I knelt on the ground and wept as I signed, 'I will love you forever Jenny'."

Peter wiped at his own eyes and kept repeating the same phrase over and over in his head – 'tower of strength, tower of strength'. There'd be plenty of time later to have an outpouring of emotions of his own, once he'd seen to the needs of his young charge. "What happened to Jenny's dad, kiddo?"

"I did the same for him. Dug a hole. Wrapped him in one of Jenny's blankets – the guy was as heavy as a small elephant, built solid like a rock – all muscle. I placed him in the ground and filled the hole. I told him I was sorry for what I had done to his daughter and I hoped he could forgive me."

"You don't still believe that do you?" Peter asked concerned.

"Believe what?"

"That you were responsible for what happened to Jenny? That it was somehow your fault?"

Neal swallowed hard and looked sorrowfully up into the older man's eyes. He wanted to say yes but he knew it was the wrong answer so he merely looked away.

"Oh Neal," Peter sighed. Obviously they still had a lot of progress to make. The agent recalled Dr Bryant's words from when they'd first brought Neal into the hospital – 'it's going to be a long hard road for all of us.' At the time, he'd found it hard to accept but now there was no misconception about how long it would take to undo a lifetime of guilt and regret.

Neal moved back to the story, "So after I'd taken care of Jenny and her Dad, I collected the scarf she had knitted for me, got into the pick-up and drove back to the interstate."

"You managed to drive okay?"

"Not really but…we learn best when-"

"We have a need," Peter finished for him. "You headed back to the city?"

"No, I went up to Canada for a little while. Hitched a ride to Toronto and hung around for a couple of years. I hooked up with an old guy and his crazy ass wife. Together they ran a rather lucrative illegal import business. The old man helped me out and gave me a place to crash whenever I came onto the radar of the local law enforcement. The Canadians eventually caught up with him for tax fraud and put him away for eighteen months. I could have stuck around, there was still plenty of work, but his wife was one nasty piece of work so I cleared out as soon as I was able. I headed back to the city figuring I'd let enough time pass to give my body time to change. Hopefully I would no longer be recognisable to anyone still looking for me from that lunatic mob family."

Neal dropped his head and became very somber. "Peter."

"Yeah Buddy?"

"I wish we could change the past. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently."

Peter wrapped his arms around his boy's shoulders and squeezed tight. "You and me both buddy, you and me both."

###

That night, as Neal slept soundly in his bed, completely drained from the emotionally charged disclosure of his past experience, his boss, his friend, his surrogate father sat watching over him from a chair that had been dragged across to the foot of the bed. Peter had at some point considered lying on the floor but changed his mind after considering it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility he'd get stood on in the morning.

El had joined her husband for a little while, finding comfort in the knowledge that despite the horrific ordeal their boy had been through as a youngster, he was now safe and sound and hopefully, finally on the path to recovery.

Neither Peter nor El bothered sleeping that night, not surprisingly, interest in their own welfare held little priority over their young charge. When morning came around, Peter phoned Andy and the doctor made an early afternoon house call to examine Neal's scratches and cuts.

The doctor was polite enough not to question the fresh wound on the boy's wrist knowing Peter would fill him in once they were alone. Andy's report was all good, saying he was thrilled with the weight gain the kid had made and to keep up the great work. But before he parted company, Andy needed something answered, mostly to appease his own curiosity than anything else.

"Neal."

"Yes Dr Bryant?" The younger man pulled his shirt back over his head as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

"I have a question about your shoulder, but please feel free not to answer if you feel uncomfortable doing so."

"Yes Doctor." Neal nodded in understanding.

"You," Andy looked back over his shoulder and glanced at Peter who was sitting close by listening. His friend nodded by way of offering permission to continue. "You cut your shoulder on one of the spaghetti cans?" Andy already knew the answer to that.

Neal nodded in confirmation.

"But I don't understand how. Going by the bruising in the surrounding area, it looks to me like you somehow landed on one of the cans with considerable force. I don't know how that is possible under the conditions you had at your disposal so I'm wondering if I made an error with my diagnosis."

"Well, ordinarily I'd be happy to say you were sadly mistaken Doctor," Neal grinned cheekily across to Peter, trying to elicit a response but the older man wasn't playing into it so the kid continued more seriously. "But this time you're not. I fell into a pile of cans Dr Bryant."

"From a considerable height?" Peter spoke up. "How?"

"I built a tower of cans against the wall hoping to be able to reach the hatch in the ceiling…"

"But the tower gave way?"

"Yes," Neal shrugged, "What can you expect; it was ridiculous to think it would work. I came crashing down, busting a number of the cans open in the process and landing with considerable force onto some sharp edges."

"You know Neal, sometimes, I enjoy being wrong." Andy pushed himself up off the coffee table and grabbed his bag while taking in the mood in the room. Accepting that he had been the cause with his curiosity, he reached into his bag and rummaged around. "Before I go, I have something for you Neal."

The young man sprang to his feet and backed away into the corner. "If you're going to say I need a shot, I'm outta here doctor and I don't care what ridiculous reasoning you give Peter as to why it's necessary."

Both Peter and Andy laughed as the doctor foraged though his bag some more collecting an extra item he hadn't considered up till now. Pulling out said items, Andy held them out to Neal as a peace offering.

The young man recognised the first and rolled his eyes. "A lollypop? What am I, five?"

Andy shrugged, "Who knows? Anyway, lots of older children like them too!"

"Very funny." Neal examined the other item - a little square patch wrapped in plastic. He flipped it over looking for a clue. "So what's this? A moist towelet to wipe my sticky mouth with once I'm finished?"

"Noooo," Andy warned. "Do not put that anywhere near your mouth. It's a localized anesthetic that will numb the skin. Next time you need a shot, put it on your arm about an hour before and you won't feel a thing."

"I find that very difficult to believe, Dr Bryant." The young man was far from convinced.

"Well, lots of other five year olds will attest to its success so feel free to ask around."

Neal placed his hands into his pockets, along with the patch and lollypop, no point in wasting them if there was a chance they'd be useful, and gave the doctor his best ever pout.

Peter hopped up to walk Andy to the door prompting his young charge along the way, "What do you say Neal?"

The young man glared at his handler before responding grudgingly, "Thank you Doctor Bryant."

"You're welcome Neal."

Once out the front, and away from prying ears, Andy turned to his friend, "I've got the day off tomorrow Pete and I'm coming around at four to pick you up for a game of basketball, one-on-one."

Peter smiled, "That's kind of you Andy, but I can't. I need to be here and I've got so much catching up at…"

"And I don't care. As your doctor-"

"You're not my doctor."

"Did I say as 'your' doctor, oh, I meant, as 'a' doctor…As a doctor I'm telling you that you have to come out with me to have some 'me' time. You'll burn yourself out if you don't and too many people count on you so I will not take no for an answer."

Andy walked towards his car as Peter yelled out good naturedly, "And what are you going to do about it if I don't. Have me admitted?"

Andy turned back and smiled evilly, "No…I'll tell El of course."

_Damn!_ "See you at four."

"See you then mate."


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Awww…It's always sad for me when it comes to the end of the ride! Hopefully it won't be too long before the next one. I always love sharing these stories with all you kind folk who take the time to share your thoughts and offer encouragement along the way.

Now to help wean me off receiving all your amazing reviews that I look forward to reading so much, and to help you all feel happy again after reading this depressing tale, I am posting two fics that I wrote a while back for challenges. "Fun and Games" was posted on Jet's Fan Fics and "Taxi!" was posted on The Little Spanko's Site. (You may have read them already) Both of the fics are very light and a bit of fun but I must warn you, "Fun and Games" is about Peter and El being involved in roleplay adult fun and they invite Neal to join them. Please read the warnings very very carefully because it is only going to a suitable read for a select few! A Moppets fic it is NOT!

Finally, as you are aware, this story and A Hopeless Passage ran concurrently with just minor differences regarding Peter's handling of Neal. If you did manage to have a look at both, please be so kind as to let me know which one you preferred – I am most interested. Some of you already have and it's been fun to follow those thoughts.

Till next time, take care,

CK

###

**Locus Desperatus – A Hopeless Passage**

_Epilogue_

Three weeks later, on a crisp wintery Monday morning, Peter found himself sitting on the concrete brick wall outside the front door of June's Manhattan mansion. Life had returned to normal, or as normal as it was ever going to be for Peter while his young wayward partner was a fixture in his life. Of course the agent vowed that particular arrangement would have no expiration date - Neal would be a part of his world for the rest of the days of his life.

They had brought Neal back to June's on Friday night under the condition that he would return to the Brooklyn home whenever he deemed necessary or whenever he just felt like a change of scenery. No reason would be required, the room, his room would always be there for him. Peter and El had stayed with Neal on Friday night to help him settle in and find his footing. On Saturday, June had promised to check in on her boy, several times throughout the night, which all but turned into her sleeping on the couch.

Monday, today, would be Neal's first official day back at work. Peter had taken him in to the Bureau for a few short visits to say hello to everyone, to thank Agents Holloway and Fench and to basically take in all that he'd lost in the eighty-three days he'd been absent. Today would be his first day back on the job. Peter wanted it to go smoothly. He didn't need any hurdles or road blocks, and as a result, found himself being overly cautious. He had told Neal he'd pick him up at eight thirty. Peter had arrived at ten past eight to be sure the young man wouldn't be waiting alone in 'the spot.' Neal was very punctual and Peter wasn't prepared to take a chance that no one was there when the kid came downstairs to wait.

During the weeks after venting his long withheld story, Neal had continued to display positive signs of getting back to how things were before his abduction. Of course, it went without saying, the healing of his physical scars were any easy fix by comparison to the mental ones. So far Peter had sat with Neal through a half dozen one hour sessions with Dr Turner and he was pressed to see any actual progress other than the fact that as the session went on, the kid seemed to be able to speak more freely about his troubled past. Peter had brought up his concerns with the young psychiatrist during one of his own therapy sessions - Andy had insisted Peter see the psychiatrist himself while hammering him on the basketball court. Dr Turner had told Peter that the first step would be to get Neal to admit that Jenny had actually taken her own life. Neal had made insinuations along those lines but was yet to speak the words. The doctor said that Neal would have to accept that Jenny had made a conscious decision to cut her own wrist before he could ever accept that he wasn't to blame.

Neal continuing to harbour the guilt wasn't Peter's only concern. At some point in the not too distant future, the agent accepted he would have to broach the topic of the cottage - primarily, its location and the eventual unearthing of the skeletal remains. It was inevitable that an investigation would be held into the deaths of Jenny and her father but Peter wasn't at all concerned that Neal would be held accountable. He would protect his partner from having to sit through any formal questioning and any subsequent inquiry would merely be a fact-finding mission, a matter of tying up loose ends. As far as Peter could ascertain, Neal had done no wrong. Well, he had admitted to breaking into a private club and attempted theft from the mob but the agent was happy to let that one slide.

"How long have you been waiting?" Neal asked with concern as he checked his watch.

"Uh, Peter spun around, caught off guard while he'd been busy with his thoughts. "Ah, not long…I was early."

"You should have called. I've been ready for over an hour."

_Of course you have!_ Peter was well aware how keen the young con was to get back to work, a sure sign he was ready to re-enter his life from before. "Here," Peter indicated a spot beside him on the wall, "sit down for a minute, I want to have a little chat before we head in."

Neal eyed the spot on the wall before looking around for an alternate arrangement and even took a step in the opposite direction, but Peter appeared unmoving. It was important the kid was able to sit out on the wall, wait without getting distressed because undoubtedly there would be times when he would have to wait by himself. Peter needed to know he could do it. "Neal…"

After a beat, the young man complied and reluctantly sat himself down on the stone wall. "Yes Peter, you wanted to give me a pep talk. Remind me of the rules, your expectations, oh by the way, this new tracker," Neal hitched up his pants, "real cool, love the colour, black goes with everything you know."

Peter knew the kid was being sarcastic and he was happy about it. The old Neal was filtering back in and nothing pleased the agent more. "That's great Neal, but I'm not here to lecture you. I wanted to tell you something…" Peter dropped his head and kicked a rock with his shoe unsure of how to continue.

"Peter," Neal grinned, "Am I hearing you correctly, not only are you passing up a golden opportunity to lecture me but you're lost for words. Did you bang your head in the shower this morning or something?"

"No," the older man shook his head, smiling up at his friend. "No, Neal…" Peter placed his hand on his partner's shoulder… "I can't help feeling Neal that had I been a better partner, a better friend, a better 'father figure' to you, you would have confided in me a long time ago what you had been through and you wouldn't have had to go through this… all these memories on your own."

Neal looked sincerely into the older man's eyes, "Peter, you remember me telling you a while back that my dad died when I was two?"

"Yes…" It was not something one would forget.

"So I grew up without someone to count on, someone to pick me up and dust me off when I scraped my knee, someone to appease my nerves when I hit puberty, to tell me everyone feels awkward at that age, someone to rein me in and take me in hand when I was sent to Juvie the first time for shoplifting from Macys. Sure, Mom was there, but Mom had her own problems so she left me to mine. By the time I was an adult," Neal pointed a look a Peter that said, 'don't start!', "I'd given up on the idea of ever having anyone to fill that role in my life." Neal dropped his head, "I was wrong. You filled that void Peter. You charged into my life, stepped into those parental shoes and never looked back, all without asking mind you!"

"Really, you think I should have asked?" Peter wondered how that would have gone down with the young reckless con.

"Nah, I would have rejected the offer. Best that you took it out of my hands and placed it in yours – I'm talking about 'poor' choices I've made Peter, not implements suitable for wielding I'll have you know."

"I get it Neal," the older man chuckled.

"Anyway, what I'm saying Peter is you weren't there earlier on….I wish you were, I wish a lot of things…You can't change the past but you can make a difference with everything that comes after it, and that's exactly what you've done. You made a difference Peter. I dread to think where I'd be without you. I don't even want to consider it for a second."

"Neal."

"Yes?"

"You're channeling my wife! You two have spent way too much time together!"

"You're telling me! She made me write those words about not being able to change the past fifty times last week after I made a harmless comment about what a failure I'd been!"

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head choosing to ignore the last part of the boy's statement. "Anyway," Peter returned to the topic. "I'm glad you're okay with the way El and I see you as part of our family."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, 'Dad'."

The older man laughed along with the joke before asking seriously, "Neal, you called Jenny's father, 'Dad'. Is that something he made you do?"

Neal shook his head, "No. Apparently 'Dad' had wanted to erase all memory of his past. There were no documents in the house with his name-"

"Not even the prescription bottle of sleeping pills?"

"No, the name label had been removed. Jenny didn't know her dad's name, he never told her, so I would refer to him as 'your' father, 'your' dad. Eventually I just dropped the 'your' and it became just Dad. It didn't mean anything. To me it became his name, not his title, it meant nothing.

"Like a moment ago when you called me Dad?"

"No, nothing like that at all. That one meant a lot."

"Oh," Peter was taken back and left momentarily speechless. He began to fiddle with the medallion hanging around his neck. Usually he had it tucked under his collar but this morning it was hanging freely.

Neal reached out and examined the ornate charm. He had wanted to do that a while back. He sighed deeply remembering that day all too clearly when he was first brought into the hospital, when he was first rescued by Peter. "I knew you'd come."

"Excuse me?" Peter had also been following the younger man's fingers while he fiddled with the medallion around his neck.

"I knew you'd find me. Even though I'd given up on living, I knew you'd never give up looking and eventually you'd find me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't find you earlier, Buddy."

"Peter," Neal warned, "do you want me to go quoting Elizabeth again?"

"Noooo," Peter held his hands up in surrender, "please, I won't bring that up again."

"Good," Neal smiled satisfied with the result and indicated the medallion with his eyes. "Where'd you get that? I had never seen it on you before that day in the hospital."

Peter ran a nervous hand through his hair, uncertain if he should proceed with an explanation. He knew the young con would only become increasingly curious if he didn't so he took a deep breath as he prepared to regale his partner with the tale. "It was while…you were away-"

"During the time I was held captive, you can say it Peter." Neal encouraged.

"Yes, during that time…you were held captive…I had some bad days and one of the things I'd do to take my mind off what was happening was to head down to the foreshore and breath in the sea air. The bureau doctor had insisted I do some type of meditation, deep breathing exercise but mostly I just sat there wondering where else to look, where else I could hope to find a lead. As I said, some days were worse than others and this one particular day, I broke down, just lost it completely. I put my head down on my lap and allowed weeks of built up emotions flow freely from my eyes. I…I wept for ages. I wept until I had no more tears to shed. Finally, I sat back up and realised this old woman was sitting on the bench beside me gazing out to the water. I was a little embarrassed knowing she'd been witness to my breakdown but I only had myself to blame, it was public area and I really couldn't have cared less when I first sat down."

"But once the emotions had cleared from your system?"

"Yeah, I felt my cheeks redden slightly. Anyway, I turned towards her after drying my eyes and she was still staring straight out. I wasn't going to say anything. I had decided to cut my loses and run but then she placed a hand on my thigh."

"Oooo, bet Elizabeth was jealous."

"Yes, I'm sure, cause when you think of Elizabeth you can't help seeing her getting upset about an old woman, possibly in her eighties touching my leg."

"Fair point, please continue."

"So anyway, when she touches my leg she speaks in a thick Eastern European accent I can barely understand telling me, 'You lost someding my voung fviend?' I was shocked. I opened my mouth but didn't know what to say. How did she know? Why would she say that? Did she have some connection to Holmes? My mind reeled in every direction, I had so many questions but all I could get out was, 'Yes'.

So then she took her arm off my leg and began to fiddle with her necklace. Peter re-enacted the moment. He reached back and removed the medallion from around his own neck. "She held out her necklace but instead of handing it to me, she secured it around my head." Peter leaned forward and latched the medallion around his young partner's neck. Neal picked it up in his hand and rubbed its beautiful ornate surface. Peter continued with his tale, "Then she said to me…. 'I lost someding once too… but I neder lost faith. You vill find vhat you are looking for and den…you won't ever looz it again.'"

Neal flipped over the medallion and examined the engraving of a young robed man holding a child. Neal read the inscription, "Saint Anthony."

"The Patron Saint of lost things…that was you my friend. Lost." Peter gave time for those words to sink in while studying the miracle sitting across from him. Twice the kid had survived what many would be unable to. Peter reassured himself, there would not be a third. "Neal… You lost your independence, you lost your confidence, you even lost your voice." Peter picked up Neal's wrist and rubbed his hand along the fading cuts. "You even lost your spirit for a little while… I never want you to lose it again." Peter reached out and took the medallion out of his partner's hands and tucked it in safely under his collar. "Don't 'pick' that!" the agent ordered.

Neal smiled, understanding the true meaning of those words. "Peter…" Neal held up his hand to his lips and pulled away. Next he held up his hand and lowered the two middle fingers. Peter smiled. Finally the kid touched his thumb to his forehead, moved his hand out about an inch, and then touched it back to his forehead again. Peter didn't know that one; he'd have to check with El later.

Peter responded to the loving words with his own hand movements. Like Neal had done, Peter held up his hand with the two middle fingers held down. Then he squeezed all three middle fingers down leaving just the thumb and pinky sticking out. He moved this 'Y' shape back and forth between Neal and himself. _I love you too._


End file.
